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. The Douglas Novels. 


THE HEIRS OF BRADLEY HOUSE. 

OSBORNE OF ARROCHAR. 

A MODERN ADAM AND EVE IN A GARDEN. 
THE FORTUNES OF THE FARADAYS. 

FOES OF HER HOUSEHOLD. 

A WOMAN'S INHERITANCE. 

CLAUDIA. 

FLOYD GRANDON’S HONOR. 

FROM HAND TO MOUTH. 

HOME NOOK. 

HOPE MILLS. 

IN TRUST. 

LOST IN A GREAT CITY. 

NELLIE KINNARD’S KINGDOM. 

OUT OF THE WRECK. 

SEVEN DAUGHTERS. 

STEPHEN DANE. 

SYDNIE ADRIANCE. 

THE OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE. 
WHOM KATHIE MARRIED. 

BETHIA WRAY’S NEW NAME. 

IN THE KING'S COUNTRY. 

PRICE PER VOL., SI.50. 

LARRY. Paper, 50 cents. Cloth, $1.00. 

LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS, 
BOSTON. 



IN WILD ROSE TIME 



AMANDA M. DOUGLAS 


>* 

AUTHOR OF “larky” “ IN THE KING’S COUNTRY” “LOST IN A GREAT CITY ” 

“ Claudia” “in trust” “ nellie kinnard’s kingdom” etc. 



/ 




BOSTON 

LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 

10 MILK STREET 

189s 




Copyright, 1894, by Lee and Shepard 


All Rights Reserved 


In Wild Rose Time 


TYPOGRAPHY AND ELECTROTYPING BY C. J. PETERS & SON. 


PRESS OF S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON. 


TO 


Jtttss Slice ILee. 

One goes through the garden of the world gathering 

FLOWERS AT ONE’S PLEASURE. THEN A FRIEND BRINGS IN A 
BLOSSOM FOR ACCEPTANCE. WiLL YOU PLACE MINE IN THE VASE 

OF Remembrance? 

A. M. D. 

Newark, December, 1894. 




CONTENTS 


I. A Handful of Roses i 

II. Saturday Afternoon 21 

III. The Way to Heaven . . .' 42 

IV. The Delights of Wealth 60 

V. A Song in the Night 78 

VI. A Wonderful Story 98 

VH. Martyred Christiana 120 

VHI. Bess 136 

IX. Dilsey 155 

X. In the Desert Alone 173 

XI. When He and Summer comes 190 

XII. The Response of Pining Eyes 209 

XIII. The Land of Pure Delight 226 

XIV. Virginia Deering 251 

XV. John Travis 273 

XVI. Across the River 288 


/ 



IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


I 

A HANDFUL OF ROSES 

“ Hev a bunch o’ roses, mem ? Fresh wild 
roses with the dew on ’em. Jes’ picked. On’y 
ten cents.” 

They dropped in at the open window, and landed 
on Virginia Deering’s lap. Her first impulse was 
to throw them out again, as she half said to her- 
self, I hate wild roses, I always shall ! ” But 
she glanced down into such a forlorn, wistful face, 
that her heart was touched, a not unkindly heart, 
though it had been bitter and obdurate with the 
unreason of youth. 

“Oh, please buy ’em, mem. Mammy’s sick and 
can’t do nothin’, an’ Ben’s got a fever. On’y ten 
cents.” 

The poor child, in her ragged dress, was clean 
enough. Her face had a starved, eager look, and 
the earnest pleading in the eyes bespoke neces- 
sity seldom counterfeited. Miss Deering opened 

I 


2 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


her pretty silver-clasped purse and handed out a 
quarter. 

“ All of it ” hesitatingly. “ Oh, thanky, thanky ! 
We’d sold the chickens, and everything we could, 
and Ben said city folks was fond of wild-flowers.” 

The whistle blew. There was a groan and 
quiver as the train began to move, that drowned 
the child’s gratitude. Miss Deering laid the roses 
^on the seat beside her with a curious touch, as if 
she shrank from them. An hour or two ago she 
had started on her journey, leaving behind her a 
sweet dream of youth and love and roses. In 
twenty-four hours the brightness of her life had 
been swept away. The summer day wore a dul- 
ness she had never seen before. 

She was a handsome young girl, with a fine 
complexion, light, silken soft hair, and very dark 
gray eyes. A modern, stylish girl, who had npt 
yet reached the period when one begins to assert 
her right supreme over the world and all that 
therein is. 

She peered at the new-comers at the next sta- 
tion. No one wanted the seat, however. The 
sweet wild roses, in all their shell-like transpar- 
ency, lay unheeded, drinking up the dewy crystal 
drops that had been showered by mortal hands, as 
well as dusky -fingered night. You would have 
said she had a tender side, that could be keenly 


A HANDFUL OF ROSES 


3 


moved by beauty. Perhaps that was why she 
glanced out of the window on the whirling sights. 
She might have vaguely wondered if she had been 
so utterly right yesterday — was it yesterday, or a 
month ago ? 

. She took up her book, but it had lost its inter- 
est. The delicate fragrance of the roses disturbed 
her — stirred a gust of feeling that she had fancied 
securely laid. If /le had cared, he would have come 
last night ; he would have seen her this morning at 
the station. She had felt so strong, so justified in 
her own sight, and such a simple thing as a beggar 
with wild roses had disturbed it all. 

There were not many people coming in town. 
She glanced about — one and another had bunches 
of flowers, flaunting scarlet geraniums and modern 
things. Very few people cared for wild roses, un- 
less they were worked in table-scarfs or painted on 
china. Ah, how the tender little buds crept closer 
to each other ! The pink, shell-like leaves of the 
mothers drooped tiredly, the soft green huddled 
about with a kind of frightened tenderness, as if 
they might be going out in a strange, unfriendly 
world. She turned her eyes away with a betray- 
ing mistiness in them. 

They came into the great station, but this was 
not the hour for crowds. She picked up her 
satchel, her book — should she leave the roses to 


4 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


the mercy of the sweeper ? Something throbbed 
up in her throat, she gathered them with a despe- 
rate grasp, threaded her way through the great 
enclosure, and passed out into the street amid a 
babel of voices. 

A group of ragged urchins stood eager for a 
chance to seize a valise or parcel, to the relief or 
disgust of its owner. 

/‘Who wants some flowers.^” bethinking herself 
suddenly of the flower charities. 

They thronged round her. She threw the bunch 
with a light effort just beyond the first noisy ring. 
A shock-headed lad with a broad, freckled face and 
laughing blue eyes caught it. Another snatched 
at it. Thereupon ensued a scrimmage. Blows 
and tearing of hair were the courtesies exchanged, 
until a policeman loomed in sight. The first lad 
was at this moment the victor, and he plunged 
down the side street with a fleetness known only 
to the street arab. The majesty of the law distrib- 
uted cuffs liberally among the vanquished, and the 
rabble dispersed. 

Miss Deering smiled with a touch of sad scorn, 
nodded to a cabman, and, as she seated herself, 
watched the fleet but dirty feet vanishing in the 
distance, recalling the face. 

“ It’s curious they, too, should quarrel about 
wild roses,” she said, just under her breath, sigh- 
ing softly. 


A HANDFUL OF ROSES 


5 


Meanwhile Patsey Muldoon ran some ten or 
twelve squares, then paused for a bit of breath, 
mopping his face with his ragged shirt sleeve. 

My, ain’t they queer ? not stunners exactly, 
but splendid, if they ain’t red. I d’know as Dil 
ever see sich a swad in her life. An’ Bess’s blue 
eyes’ll be like saucers. Oh, golly ! how sweet ! ” 
burying his face in them. Sich as these ain’t 
layin’ loose round Barker’s Court offen. I’ve lost 
a job mebbe, an’ Casey’ll crow if he gits one ; but 
that ere left-hander wos science, that wos ! ” and 
the boy chuckled as he ran on again. 

From the Grand Central over to the East Side 
tenements was no mean stretch, but Patsey would 
have gone twice as far to give Dilsey Quinn a 
pleasure. 

The street was built up compactly, and swarmed 
with children. There was an open way between 
a row of houses, a flagged space called Barker’s 
Court ; a deep strip of ground that had been a 
puzzle to its owner, until he hit upon a plan for 
his model tenement row. The four-story houses 
faced each other, with pulley-lines between, the 
clothes shutting out air and light. They were 
planned for the greatest number, if the greatest 
good had been omitted. One narrow hall and 
stairway did for two houses, so not much space 
was lost. But the sights and sounds, the piles of 


6 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


garbage, the vile air emanating from rooms where 
dirt reigned supreme, and the steam of the wet 
clothes, were something terrible on a hot summer 
day. The poor creatures crowded into it were 
used to it. 

Patsey ran down to the middle of the Court, 
and then scudded up one flight. 

The room was clean, rather cheery looking, 
with one window, water and drain in the corner, 
a room at the back, and a very small one at the 
side over the hall, with a window half the width 
of the other. A stove stood in the chimney re- 
cess, there was an old lounge, a rug of crazy-work 
carpet in which Dilsey Quinn had sewed together 
the bits given to her mother. 

“ Hello, Dil ! Ain’t them the daisies ? Did 
ye ever have sich a lot before in yer life ? I don’t 
mean they’re reg’lar daisies — they’re roses of 
some kind, but blam’d if I ever seen any like ’em 
afore.” 

He tossed them into a baby-wagon, where sat the 
frailest and whitest wraith one could ever imagine 
alive. How she lived puzzled everybody. They 
never took into account Dil’s passionate and in- 
exhaustible love that fought off death with eager, 
watchful care. 

“ O Patsey ! ” Such a joyful cry of surprise. 
“ Was there a flower mission ? ” 


A HANDFUL OF ROSES 


7 


‘‘ Flower mission be blowed ! Did ye ever see 
any sich in a mission by the time it gits round 
here ? ” 

His stubby nose wrinkled disdainfully, and he 
gave his head an important toss. 

“ But, oh, where did you get thim } ” There 
was the least bit of a brogue in Dil’s voice, and 
she always said “ thim ” in an odd, precise fashion. 

There must be a thousand ; they’re packed so 
tight they’ve almost hurted each other. And, oh, 
how sweet ! ” 

The breath of fragrance seemed to penetrate 
every pulse in Dil’s sturdy frame. 

“ I guess ther ain’t mor’n a hundred ; but it’s a 
jolly lot, and they looked so strange and queer 
like — weakly, like Bess here, an’ I thought of her. 
A young lady throwed ’em out to me. I s’pose 
she’d had so many flowers they didn’t count. My, 
wasn’t she a high-stepper, purty as they make ’em ; 
but her hair couldn’t shine along o’ Bess’s here. 
None o’ yer horse-car folks, nuther ; she went 
off in a cab. An’ Jim Casey went fer ’em. I 
knowed she meant ’em fer me ; ye kin tell by a 
person’s eye an’ the nod o’ ther head. But Casey 
went fer ’em, an’ I give him a punch jes’ back o’ 
the ear — clear science, an’ the boys made a row. 
While the cop was a-mendin’ of their bangs I 
shinned it off good, I tell ye ! I’ve run every step 


8 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


from Gran’ Cent’al, an now I must shin off fer 
my papers. An’ you kids kin have a picnic wid 
de flowers.” 

Patsey stopped for a breath, redder than ever in 
the face. 

“ O Patsey, you’re so good ! ” cried the little 
wraith. Dil smiled through her tears, and 
squeezed his hand. 

‘‘Hi! good!” with a snort of merry disdain. 
“ I jes’ wisht I had the boodle to git a kerrige 
an’ take ye both out’n the country where things 
grow reel in the ground, an’ ye can snivy on ’em 
with no cop nosin’ round. If Bess could walk 
we’d take a tower. But, tra la,” and his bare feet 
went pattering down the stairs. 

The two children looked at each other and the 
roses in wordless amaze. Bess ventured to touch 
one with her thin little fingers. Then the wail of 
a baby broke into their speechless delight. 

There were five babies sprawling on the floor 
and the lounge, too near of an age to suggest their 
belonging to one household. Since Dil had to be 
kept at home with a poor sickly child who wouldn’t 
die, Mrs. Quinn had found a way of making her 
profitable besides keeping the house tidy and look- 
ing after the meals. But it was not down in the 
lists as a day nursery. 

Dilsey Quinn was fourteen. You would not 


A HANDFUL OF ROSES 


9 


have supposed her that ; but hard work, bad air, 
and perhaps the lack of the natural joys of child- 
hood, had played havoc with her growth and Ihe 
graces of youth. She had rarely known what it 
was to run and shout and play as even the street 
arabs did. There had always been a big baby for 
her to tend ; for the Quinns came into the world 
lusty and strong. Next to Dil had been a boy, 
now safely landed in the reform->school after a 
series of adventures such as are glorified in the 
literature of the slums. Then Bess, and two more 
boys, who bade fair to emulate their brother. 

Mrs. Quinn was a fine, large Scotch-Irish wo- 
man ; Mr. Quinn a pure son of Erin, much given 
to his cups, and able to pick a quarrel out of the 
eye of a needle. One night, four years agone, 
he had indulged in a glorious “ shindy,” smashed 
things in general, and little Bess in particular, 
beat his wife nearly to a jelly, then rushed to the 
nearest gin-mill, and half murdered the proprietor. 
He was now doing the State service behind prison- 
bars. 

Mrs. Quinn was an excellent laundress, and 
managed better without him. But she, too, had a 
weakness for a “ sup o’ gin,” which she always 
took after her day’s work and before she went to 
bed. But woe betide the household when she be- 
gan too early in the day. 


10 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


The baby that set up such a howl was a fat, 
yellowish-white, small-eyed creature, looking like 
a great, soggy, overboiled potato. 

“ There, Jamsie, there,” began the little mother 
soothingly ; “ would he like a turn in the baby- 
jumper ? He’s tired sitting on the floor, ain’t he, 
Jamsie ? ” 

The cooing voice and the tender clasp com- 
forted the poor baby. She placed him in the 
jumper, and gave him an iron spoon, with which 
he made desperate lunges at the baby nearest him. 
But Dil fenced him off with a chair. She gave 
another one a crust to munch on. The two on 
the lounge were asleep ; the other was playing 
with the spokes of Bess’s wheel. 

Dil always had a “way ” with babies. It might 
have been better for her if she had proved less 
beguiling. Sometimes the number swelled to ten, 
but it was oftener five or six. If it fell below five 
there were hard lines for poor Dil, unless she had a 
reserve fund. She early learned the beneficent 
use of strategy in the way of “ knock-downs.” 

“ O Dil ! ” and Bess gave a long, rapturous sigh, 
“did you ever see so many.? And they’re real 
roses, but fine and tender and strange, somehow. 
The buds are like babies, — no, they’re prittier 
than babies,” glancing disdainfully at those around 
her ; “ but rose babies would be prittier and 


A HANDFUL OF ROSES it 

sweeter, wouldn’t they ? ” with a wan little smile. 

O my darlings, I must kiss you ! Thank you 
a thousand, thousand times. Did the pritty lady 
guess you were coming to me } ” She buried her 
face down deep in their sweetness, and every faint, 
feeble pulse thrilled with wordless delight. 

“ It was awful good of Patsey, wasn’t it ? ” she 
continued, when she looked up again. 

“Patsey’s always good,” answered Dil senten- 
tiously. She was wondering what they would do 
if he should get “ nabbed ” by any untoward ac- 
cident ; for every little while some boy did get 

nabbed.” 

Patsey Muldoon smoked cigar stumps, fought 
like a tiger, and swore as only a street-gamin can. 
But he was not a thief. And to these two girls 
he was as loyal a knight, and brave, as any around 
King Arthur’s Table. 

“ Let me untie thim. They must be hurted 
with the string round so tight.” 

Dil cut the cord, and began to unwind it. A 
great shower fell over Bess, who laughed softly, 
and uttered exclamations in every key of delight. 
If Virginia Deering could have witnessed the rap- 
ture of these poor things over her despised wild 
roses ! 

O Dil, we never had so many flowers all to 
once ! ” she cried in tremulous joy. “ There was 


12 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


the daisies from the Mission ; but though they’re 
pritty, you can’t make ’em smell sweet. Do you 
s’pose it was over in that country you heard tell 
of where the beautiful lady found them ? O Dil, 
if you could go to the Mission School again ! I’d 
like to know some more, — oh, what will we do 
with them } ” 

Dil looked round in dismay. 

“I daren’t use the pitcher, and there ain’t 
nothin’ big enough. They’re wilty, and they just 
want to be laid out straight in water. But if 
they’re in anything, and mammy wants it, she’ll 
just chuck thim away. Oh, dear ! ” and Dil 
glanced round in perplexity. 

“ Mammy promised to buy me another bowl, 
but she never does,” was Bess’s plaint. 

Some one had given them a white earthen 
wash-bowl long before. The boys had broken it 
in a “tussle.” They were thrashed, but Bess had 
not had her loss made good. 

“ O Bess ! would you mind if I ran down to 
Misses Fihnigan’s ? She might have something — 
cheap.” 

“ No ; run quick,” was the eager response. 

Dil gave a glance at the babies and was off. 
Around the corner in a basement was a small 
store of odds and ends. Mrs. Finnigan was 
a short, shrewd-looking woman with very red 


A HANDFUL OF ROSES 


13 


hair, a much turned-up nose, and one squint 
eye. 

Dil studied the shelves as they were passing 
the time of day. 

“What will wan of thim little wash-bowls 
cost ? ” she asked hesitatingly. “ Bess had wan 
a lady sent .to her, but Owny broke it. Tve been 
looking to get her another, but it’s so hard to 
save up a bit o’ money.” 

“Ah, yis ; so it is.” Mrs. Finnigan gave the 
shelf a severe scrutiny. “Thim, is it now ? Well, 
there’s wan ye kin hev’ fer sivin cints, dirt chape 
at that. It’s got a bit of scale knocked off, and 
the dust has settled in, but it’ll hould wather 
ivery blissid time,” and she laughed with a funny 
twinkle in her squint eye. “ Or will ye be wan- 
tin’ somethin’ foiner } ” 

“Oh, no, and I’ve only five cents. If you will 
trust me a bit ” — eagerly. 

“ Sure I’d trust ye to Christmas an’ the day 
afther, Dilsey Quinn. If iverybody was as hon- 
est, I’d be puttin’ money in the bank where I’m 
bewailin’ me bad debts now! Take it along wid 
ye.” 

“O Misses Finnigan, if mother should be 
awful about it, might I just say ye gev it to me.? 
Mother do be moighty queer sometimes, and 
other whiles she don’t notice.” 


H 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


“That I will, an’ the blissid Virgin ’ll count it 
no sin. It’s a long head ye’ve got, Dil, an’ its 
wisdom that gets through the world widout havin’, 
it broken. It’ll be all right ” — with another 
wink. “ An’ here’s a bit of bananny for the poor 
colleen.” 

Dil ran off home with the bowl wrapped up in 
her apron to prevent incautious gossip. One of 
the babies was crying, but she hushed it with the 
end of the banana. It was rather “off,” and the 
middle had to be amputated, but the baby enjoyed 
the unwonted luxury. 

Then she washed her bowl and filled it with 
clean water. 

“ They’ll freshen up, and the buds be cornin’ out 
every day. I’ll set thim on the window-sill, and 
all night they’ll be sweet to you between whiles, 
when you can’t sleep. O Bess dear, do you mind 
the old lady who came in with her trax, I think 
she called thim, and sung in her trembly voice 
’bout everlastin’ spring an’ never with’rin’ flow- 
ers ? I’ve always wisht I could remember more 
of it. Never with’rin’ flowers ! Think how lovely 
’twould be ! ” 

“An’ — heaven! That’s what it is, Dil. I 
wisht some one else could know. O Dil, think of 
flowers always stayin’ fresh an’ sweet I ” 

Dil snipped off the faded leaves, and gave them 


A HANDFUL OF ROSES 


15 


a fresh water bath. One branch had -seven buds 
and five roses. The delight that stirred these 
starved souls was quite indescribable. Never had 
they possessed such a wealth of pleasure. 

Now and then Dil had to leave off and comfort 
the fractious babies. They were getting tired, 
and wanted their own mothers. But for the poor 
little girl playing at motherhood there was no one 
to come in and infold her in restful arms, and 
comfort her when the long, warm day ended. 

At last she had the bowl filled with flowers, a 
great mound of delicious pink and tenderest green. 
Bess and Dilsey knew little about artistic meth- 
ods ; but the sight was a joy that the finest knowl- 
edge could not have described — that full, wordless 
satisfaction. 

A passionate pulsation throbbed in Bess’s throat 
as if it would strangle her. 

“Now,” said Dil, “I’m going to set thim in 
your room. I’ll push you in there, and you can 
make believe you are in a truly garden. For 
whin the folks come in, they’ll be beggin’ thim, 
an’ they’ll give thim to the babies to tear up. 
I couldn’t abear to have thim hurted. An’ babies 
don’t care ! ” 

“ They can go out every day and see things.” 
Bess clasped her arms about Dil’s neck, and kissed 
her fervently. 


l6 IN WILD-ROSE TIME 

The room was very, very small. Dil’s cot stood 
along the wall ; and there were two or three gro- 
cery boxes piled up to make a sort of closet, with 
a faded curtain across it. There was just room 
to push in the carriage by the window. It was 
Bess’s sofa by day and bed by night. The bowl 
was placed on the window-sill. Now and then a 
breath of air found its way in. 

Mrs. Finn and Mrs. Brady came in for their 
babies. Dil stirred the fire and put on the 
kettle, then washed the potatoes and set them 
to cook. Now and then she ran in to smile at 
Bess. 

It’s just like heaven ! ” cried the little wraith. 

Alas, if this was a foretaste of heaven ! This 
close, fetid air, and the wet clothes, for they were 
put up at all hours. Pure air was one of the lux- 
uries Barker’s Court could not indulge in, though 
we talk of it being God’s gift to rich and poor 
alike. 

When the two rough, begrimed boys rushed 
in there was only Jamsie left; and he was in an 
uneasy sleep, with his thumb in his mouth, so Dil 
held up her hand to entreat silence. The boys 
lived so generally in the street, and did so much 
shrewd foraging, that they looked well and hearty, 
if they had the air of prospective toughs. 

“ I’ve put the last bit of bread in the milk for 


A HANDFUL OF ROSES 1/ 

Bess’s supper, and you must wait until mother 
comes,” said Dill, with her small air of authority. 

The boys grumbled. Little Dan was quick to 
follow Owen’s lead, who said roughly, — 

“ O yes, de kid must have everything ! An’ 
she’ll never be good fer nothin’ wid dem legs. 
No use tryin’ to fatten her up wid de luxuries o’ 
life ! ” and the boy’s swagger would have done 
credit to his father. 

“She’s no good,” put in Dan; “ ’n’ I’m norful 
hungry.” 

The tears came to Dil’s eyes, though she was 
quite used to hearing such remarks on the little 
sister she loved better than her own life. Every- 
body seemed to consider her such a useless bur- 
then. 

“ Ain’t them praties done ? I could jes’ eat ’em 
raw,” whined Dan. 

“ Shet yer mug, er I’ll gev ye a swipe,” said 
Owen. “Ye don’t look’s if ye wos goin’ to faint 
this minnit.” 

“You jes’ mind yer own biz, Owen Quinn;” 
and the little fellow swelled up with an air. 

Owen made a dive, but Dan was like an eel. 
They were on the verge of a scrimmage when 
their mother entered. A tall, brawny woman, 
with an abundance of black hair, blue eyes, and a 
color that, in her girlhood, had made her the belle 


1 8 IN WILD-ROSE TIME 

of her native hamlet, less than twenty years ago. 
A hard, weather-beaten look had settled in the 
lines of her face, her cheeks had an unwholesome 
redness, her skin had the sodden aspect that hot 
steam brings about, and her eyes were a little 
bleared by her frequent potations. Her voice 
was loud, and carried a covert threat in it. She 
cuffed the boys, produced a loaf of bread, and 
some roast beef bones Mrs. Collins had given 
her. 

“It just needs a stir in the kettle, Dil, for it’s 
gone a bit sour ; but it’ll freshen up with salt an’ 
some onion. How many babies } ” 

“Five,” answered Dil. 

Just then Mrs. Gillen came flying up the stairs. 
She was not much beyond twenty, and still comely 
with youth and health and hope. 

“ O me darlint ! ” snatching up her baby with 
rapture, “ did he want his own mammy, sure ? ” 
laughing gleefully between the kisses. “ Has he 
fretted any, Dil ” 

“He’s been very good.” Dil was too wise to 
tell bad tales. 

“ He always is, the darlint ! An’ I’m late. I 
was ironin’ away for dear life,' whin Mrs. Welford 
comes down wid a lasht summer’s gown, an’ sez 
she, ‘Mrs. Gillen, you stop an’ iron it, an’ I’ll 
give . ye a quarther, for ye’ve had a big day’s 


A HANDFUL OF ROSES 


19 


work/ sez she. So what cud I do, faix, when she 
shpoke so diver loike, an’ the money ready to 
hand ? ” 

“ They’re not often so free wid their tin, 
though heaven knows they’re free enough wid 
their work,” commented Mrs. Quinn, with a touch 
of contempt. 

“ Mrs. Welford is a rale lady, ivery inch of her. 
Jamsie grumbles that I go to her, but a bit o’ tin 
comes in moighty handy. An’ many’s the cast- 
offs I do be getten, an’ it all helps. Here’s five 
cints, and here’s a nickel for yourself, Dil. What- 
ever in the world should we be doin’ widout 


ye ? 

“ Thank you, ma’am,” and Dil courtesied. 

Mrs. Gillen bundled up her baby in her apron 
and wished them good-night, skipping home with 
a light heart to get her husband’s supper, and 
hear him scold a little because she worked so 
late. 

Mrs. Quinn held out her hand to her daughter. 

Gev me that nickel,” she said. 

The ready obedience was inspired more by the 
fear of a blow than love. 

The potatoes were done, and they sat down to 
supper. Certainly the boys were hungry. 

I’m goin’ to step down to Mrs. MacBride’s an’ 
sit on the stoop for a bit of fresh air/’ she an- 


20 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


nounced. Tve worked that hard to-day there’s 
no life left in me. Don’t ye dare to stir out, ye 
spalpeens, or I’ll break ivery blessed bone in your 
body,” and Mrs. Gillen shook her fist by way of 
a parting injunction. 


SATURDAY AFTERNOON 


21 


II 

SATURDAY AFTERNOON 

The boys waited until they were sure their 
mother was having her evening treat. Mrs. Mac- 
Bride’s was a very fascinating place, a sort of 
woman’s club-house, with a sprinkling of men to 
make things merry. Decent, too, as drinking- 
places go. No dancing girls, but now and then 
a rather broad joke, and a song that would not 
appeal to a highly cultivated taste. There was 
plenty of gossip, but the hours were not long. 

Dil washed up the dishes, dumped the stove- 
grate, and took the ashes out to the box. Then 
she swept up the room and set the table, and her 
day’s work was done. 

Patsey Muldoon came in with his heartsome 
laugh. 

“O Patsey, they’re the loveliest things, all com- 
ing up so fresh an’ elegant, as if they grew in the 
water. Bess is wild about thim ; ” and Dil’s tone 
was brimful of joy. 

They went in and sat on the cot. 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


?2 


“They do seem alive,” declared Bess, with her 
thin, quivering note of satisfaction. “ I do be 
talkin’ to thim all the time, as if they were 
folks.” 

Patsey laughed down into the large, eager, 
faded eyes. 

“ Sure, it’s fine as a queen in her garden ye 
are ! We’ll say thanky to my lady for not kapin’ 
them herself. An’ I had a streak of luck this 
avenin’, an’ I bought the weeny thing two of the 
purtiest apples I could find. I was goin’ to git a 
norange, but the cheek of ’em, wantin’ five cents 
for wan I ” 

“ I like the apples best, Patsey,” replied the 
plaintive little voice. “ You’re so good ! ” 

“ I had one mesilf, an’ it’s first-rate. Casey’s 
goin’ ter lick me — don’t yer wish him luck ? ” 

Patsey laughed again. He seemed much 
amused over the fact. 

“No, I don’t,” said Dill stoutly. “Was it ’bout 
the flowers ? ” and Dil began to peel the soft har- 
vest apple, looking up with eager interest. 

“ The cop gev him a clip, an’ he was mad all 
through.” Patsey nodded humorously. 

“What would he have done with the roses ” 
Dil asked, with pity in her voice. 

“Taken ’em to his best gal ! ” This seemed an 
immense joke to the boy. 


SATURDAY AFTERNOON 


23 


^‘An’ I’m your best girl, Patsey, said Bess,” 
laying her little hand on his, so brown. 

That you jest are, an’ don’t yer forgit it,” he 
replied heartily. 

Dil fed her with slices of the apple. It was 
so refreshing to her parched mouth and throat. 
Patsey had so many amusing incidents to relate ; 
but he always slipped away early, before the boys 
came home. He wanted no one telling tales. 

Then Dil gave Bess her evening bath, and 
rubbed the shrunken legs that would never even 
hold up the wasted body. Ah, how softly Dil 
took them in her hands, how tender and loving 
were her ministrations. All her soul went out in 
this one passionate affection. 

“ Your poor flannils is all in rags,” she said 
pityingly. ‘‘ Whatever we are to do unless some 
one gives mammy a lot of old stuff. O Bess ! 
And there are such lovely ones in the stores, soft 
as a pussy cat.” 

Mine are cool for summer.” Bess gave a pit- 
iful little laugh. Buying clothes for her was a 
sheer waste, in her mother’s estimation. 

Then Dil held the thin hands and fanned her 
while she crooned, in a sort of monotone, bits of 
beautiful sentences she had gathered in her infre- 
quent inspection of windows where Christmas or 
Easter cards were displayed. She could not carry 


24 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


the simplest tune, to her passionate regret, but 
she might have improvised chanting sentences 
and measures that would have delighted a com- 
poser. She had transformed Bess’s pillowed 
couch into a bed, and these hot nights she 
fanned her until she drowsed away herself. She 
used to get so tired, poor hard-worked Dilsey. 

But the pathetic minor key of her untrained 
and as yet unfound voice Bess- thought the sweet- 
est music in the world. She was not fond of the 
gay, blatant street songs ; her nerves were too 
sensitive, her ear too finely attuned to unconscious 
harmonies. 

The tired voice faltered, the weary head drooped, 
the soft voice ceased. 

Bess roused her. 

“ Dil, dear, you must go to bed. I am all nice 
and cooled off now, and you are so tired. Kiss me 
once more.” 

Not once but many times. Then she dropped 
on her own little bed and was asleep in a moment. 
Did God, with all his millions to care for, care also 
for these heathens in a great enlightened city ? 

It was Bess who heard the boys scuffling in and 
just saving themselves when their mother’s heavy 
tread sounded in the room. It was the poor child, 
racked by pain, whose nerves were rasped by the 
brawls and the crying babies, the oaths and foul 


SATURDAY AFTERNOON 2 $ 

language, and sometimes a fight that seemed in 
her very window. 

Yet she lay there with her bowl of roses beside 
her, now and then touching them caressingly with 
her slight fingers, and inhaling the delicate fra- 
grance. She was in a little realm of her own, 
unknowingly the bit of the kingdom of heaven 
within one. 

But Bessy Quinn did not even know that she 
had a soul. There was a great hungry longing 
for some clean and quiet comfort, a mother she 
was not always afraid of, and Dil, who was never 
to tend babies any more. And if there could be 
flowers, and the “ everlasting spring,” and one 
could live out in the green fields. 

They talked it over sometimes — this wonderful 
place they would like to find. 

Morning always came too soon for Dilsey Quinn. 
Her mother wanted a cup of coffee, and ordered 
what Dil was to cook for the boys. It was a 
relief to see her go ; but the babies began to come 
in at seven, and sometimes they were cross and 
cried after their mothers. 

But on Saturday there was a great change. 
Mrs. Quinn washed at home ; Dilsey scrubbed 
the floors, ironed, was maid of all work, for there 
was not often any babies ; Mrs. Quinn did not 
enjoy having them around. 


26 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


This afternoon she was going to “ Cunny Island ” 
with a party of choice spirits. She felt she needed 
an outing once a week, and five days’ steady wash- 
ing and ironing was surely enough. Dil helped 
her mother off with alacrity. This time she was 
unusually good-natured, and gave the children a 
penny all round. 

Then Dil arrayed herself and Bess in their best. 
Dil was quite well off this summer ; her mother 
often brought home clothes she could wear. But 
poor Bess had not been so fortunate. The little 
white cap was daintily done up, though Dil knew 
it would never stand another ironing. So with 
the dress, and the faded blue ribbon tied about 
her baby waist. They were scrupulously clean ; 
one would have wondered how anything so neat 
could have come out of Barker’s Court. 

It was a feat of ingenuity for Dil’s short arms 
to get the carriage down the narrow, winding 
stairs. Sometimes the boys would help, or Patsey 
would be there. Then she took the pillows and 
the faded rug, and when they were settled she 
carried down Bess. That was not a heavy 
burthen. She arranged her in a wonderful man- 
ner, pulling out the soft golden curls that were 
like spun silk. Bess wouM have been lovely in 
health and prosperity. Her blue eyes had black 
pupils and dark outside rims. Between was a 


SATURDAY AFTERNOON 


27 


light, translucent blue, changing like a sea wave 
blown about. The brows and lashes were dark. 
But the face had a wan, worn look, and the plead- 
ing baby mouth had lost its color, the features 
were sharpened. 

One and another gave them good-day with a 
pleasant smile. 

It would be the Lord’s mercy if the poor thing 
could drop off quiet like,” they said to each other. 
It was a mystery to them how she managed to 
live. 

They went out of the slums into heaven almost; 
over to Madison Square. Dil liked the broad out- 
look, the beautiful houses, the stores, the perspect- 
ive of diverging streets, the throngs of people, the 
fountain, the flowers. There was an intangible 
influence for which her knowledge was too limited ; 
but her inmost being felt, if it could not under- 
stand. Occasionally, like poor Joe, she was 
ordered to move on, but one policeman never 
molested her. Something in the pathetic baby 
face recalled one he had held in his arms, and who 
had gone out of them to her little grave. 

Dil found a shady place and a vacant seat. She 
drew the wagon up close, resting her feet on the 
wheel. The last of the wild roses had been taken 
along for an airing. Poor, shrunken little buds, 
lacking strength to come out fully, akin to the 


28 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


fingers that held them so tenderly. Bess laughed 
at Dil’s shrewd, amusing comments, and they were 
very happy. 

Two or three long, delicious hours in this fresh, 
inspiriting air, with the blue sky over their heads, 
the patches of velvety grass, the waving trees, the 
elusive tints caught by the spray of the fountain, 
and the flowers, made a paradise for them. They 
drank in eagerly the divine draught that was to 
last them a week, perhaps longer. 

A young fellow came sauntering along, — a 
tall, supple, jaunty-looking man, with a refined 
and kindly, rather than a handsome face. His 
hair was cropped close, there was a line of sunny 
brown moustache on his short upper lip, and his 
chin was broad and cleft. It gave him a mirthful 
expression, as if he might smile easily ; but there 
was a shadow of firmness in the blue-gray eye, 
and now the lips were set resolutely. 

He stopped and studied them. They were like 
a picture in their unconventional grace. He was 
quite in the habit of picking up odd, rustic ideas. 

“ Hillo ! ” coming nearer with a bright smile. 
“Where did you youngsters find wild roses? 
They seem not to have thriven on city air.” 

*^Are they wild roses asked Dil. “What 
makes thim so ? ” 

He laughed, a soft, alluring sound. Something 


SATURDAY AFTERNOON 29 

in the quaint voice attracted him. It was too old, 
too intense, for a child. 

“ I don’t know, except that they are wild around 
country places, and do not take kindly to civiliza- 
tion. Where I have been staying, there are hun- 
dreds of them. You can’t tell much about beauty 
by those withered-up buds.” 

O mister, we had thim when they were lovely. 
On Chuesday it was — Patsey Muldoon brought 
thim to us. And they just seemed to make Bess 
all alive again with joy.” 

The pretty suggestion of brogue, the frankness, 
so far removed from any aspect of boldness, inter- 
ested him curiously. 

And had Patsey Muldoon been in the coun- 
try ? ” he asked with interest. 

“ Oh, no. He was up to Gran’ Cent’l, an’ a lady 
who come on the train had thim. Patsey said she 
was beautiful and elegant, an’ she gev thim to 
him. An’ Jim Casey tried to get ’em, an’ they 
had a scrimmage ; but Patsey ain’t no chump ! 
An’ he brought thim down to Bess,” nodding to 
the pale little wraith. “ Patsey’s so good to us ! 
An’, oh, they was so lovely an’ sweet, with leaves 
like beautiful pink satin, and eyes that looked at 
you like humans, — prittier than most humans. 
An’ it was like a garden to us — a great bowlful. 
Wasn’t it, Bess ? ” 


30 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


The child smiled, and raised her eyes in exalta- 
tion. Preternaturally bright they were, with the 
breathless look that betrays the ebbing shore of 
life, yet full of eager desire to remain. For there 
would have been no martyrdom equal to being 
separated from Dil. 

‘‘O mister!” she cried beseechingly, “couldn’t 
you tell us about them — how they live in their 
own homes ? An’ how they get that soft, satiny 
color Mammy brought us home a piece of rib- 
bon once, — some one gev it to her, — an’ Dil 
made a bow for my cap. Last summer, wasn’t it, 
Dil ? An’ the roses were just like that when we 
freshened them up. They was so lovely ! ” 

He seated himself beside Dil. A curious im- 
pression came over him, and he was touched to 
the heart by the fondness and tender care of the 
roses. Was there some strange link — 

“Was it Tuesday afternoon, did you say.?” hes- 
itating, with a sudden rush at his heart. “ And a 
tall, slim girl with light hair.? ” 

Dil shook her head with vague uncertainty. 

“ Patsey said she was a stunner ! An’ she went 
in a kerrige. She wasn’t no car folks.” 

He laughed softly at this idea of superiority. 
“Of course you didn’t see her,” he commented 
reflectively, with a pleasant nod. How absurd to 
catch at such a straw. No, he couldn’t fancy her 


SATURDAY AFTERNOON 


31 


with a great bunch of wild roses in her slim hand, 
when she had so haughtily taken off his ring and 
dropped it at his feet. 

“ Oh, you wanted to know about wild roses 
when they were at home,” coming out of his 
dream. What a dainty conceit it was ! And he 
could see the pretty rose nook now ; yes, it was a 
summer parlor. “ Well, they grow about country 
ways. Fve found them in the woods, by the 
streams, by the roadsides, sometimes in great 
clumps. And where I have been staying, — in 
the village of Chester, — a long distance from 
here, they grew in abundance. At the edge of a 
wood there was a rose thicket. The great, tall 
ones that meet over your head, and the low-grow- 
ing bushy ones. Why, you could gather them by 
the hundreds ! Have you ever been to the coun- 
try ” he asked suddenly. 

“We’ve been to Cent’l Park,” answered Dil 
proudly. 

“ Well, that’s the country in its Sunday clothes, 
dressed up for a company reception. The real 
country lives in every-day clothes, and gets weedy 
and dusty, with roads full of ruts. But you can 
walk on the grass ; it grows all along the road- 
sides. Then there are flowers, — or weeds in 
bloom; it amounts to the same thing, — and no 
one scolds if you pick them. You can lie out 


32 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


under the trees, and the birds come and sing to 
you, and the squirrels run about. The air is 
sweet as if it rained cologne every night. Under- 
brush and wild blackberries reach out and shake 
hands with you; butterflies go floating in the sun- 
shine ; crickets sit on the stones and chirp ; bees 
go droning by, laden with honey ; and a great 
robin will stop and wink at you.” 

The children’s faces were not only a study, but 
a revelation. John Travis thought he had never 
seen anything so wonderful. If a man could put 
such life in every feature, such exquisite bewilder- 
ment ! 

“What is a robin.?” asked Bess, her face all 
alight with eagerness. 

“ A great saucy bird with black eyes and a red 
breast. And there is a bobolink, who flies around 
announcing his own name, and a tiny bird that 
says, ‘ Phebe, Phebe ; ’ for in the country the birds 
can talk.” 

Both children sighed ; their hearts were full to 
overflowing. What heavenly content ! 

“This particular spot,” and John Travis’s eyes 
seemed to look way off and soften mysteriously, 
“ is at the edge of a wood. The road runs so,” 
marking it out on his trousers with his finger, 
“ way up over a sloping hill, and this one goes 
down to a little stream. In this angle ” — 


SATURDAY AFTERNOON 33 

Neither of them had the slightest idea of an 
angle, but it did not disturb their delight. 

“ In this angle there are some alders and stuff, 
and a curious little entrance to the rose thicket. 
Every kind seems in a riotous tangle. The low 
ones that begin to bloom in June, palest pink, 
rose-pink, and their dainty slim buds the most de- 
licious color imaginable. There’s a small cleared 
space ; that’s the parlor, with a velvety green car- 
pet. . The bushes meet overhead, and shower their 
soft leaves down over you. Every day hundreds 
of them bloom. It looks like a fairy cave. And 
lying down on the grass you can look up to one 
patch of blue sky. And I think the roses must 
have souls that go up to heaven — they are so 
sweet.” 

He paused in his random talk, with his eyes 
fixed on Dil. The rapt expression of her face 
transfigured her. Any one could imagine Bess 
being beautiful under certain healthful conditions, 
but Dil gave no promise to the casual glance. 
John Travis discerned at that moment the gift 
and charm higher than mere beauty, born of the 
soul, and visible only when the soul is deeply 
moved. 

Her hat was pushed a little back. There was a 
fringe of red-brown hair with a peculiar glint, 
softened by the summer heat into rings. A low. 


34 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


broad forehead, a straight line of bronze brown, 
shading off in a delicate curve and fineness at 
the temple. But her eyes were like the gems in 
brown quartz, that have a prisoned gleam of sun- 
shine in them, visible only in certain lights. Or- 
dinarily they were rather dull ; at times full of 
obstinate repression. Now they were illuminated 
with the sunrise glow. A small Irish nose, that 
had an amusing fashion of wrinkling up, and over 
which went a tiny procession of freckles. A wide 
mouth, redeemed by a beautifully curved upper 
lip, and a rather square chin that destroyed the 
oval. 

“Hillo ! ” as if coming out of a dream. ‘‘See 
here, I’d like to sketch you — would you mind 

He had dreamed over a picture he was to paint 
of that enchanted spot, a picture of happy youth 
and love and hope, “ In Wild-Rose Time.” But 
the dream was dead, the inspiration ended. He 
could never paint that picture, and yet so much 
of his best efforts had gone to the making of it ! 
What if he arose from the ruin, and put this child 
in it, with her marvellous eyes, her ignorant, inno- 
cent trust, her apron full of wild roses, emerging 
from the shadowy hollow, and one branch caught 
in her hair, half crowning her. 

For why should a man wreck his life on the 
shallows and quicksands of a woman’s love } Two 


SATURDAY AFTERNOON 


35 


days ago he had said he could not paint again in 
years, if ever, that all his genius had been the soft 
glamour of a woman’s smile. And here was a fresh 
inspiration. 

Dil stared, yet the happy light did not go out 
of her face as she tried to grasp the mystery. 

“ Yes ; would you mind my sketching you for a 
picture } ” 

There were not many people around. Saturday 
afternoons they went off on excursions. A few 
drowsy old fellows of the better class, two women 
resting and reading, waiting for some one per- 
haps, others sauntering. 

“ Oh, if you’d make a picture of Bess ! She’s 
so much prittier, an’ her hair’s like gold. Oh, 
do ! ” and Dil’s breath came with an entreating 
gasp, while her face was beseeching love. 

“Yes; I’ll make a picture of Bess too, if you 
can stay long enough,” he answered good hu- 
moredly. 

“We can stay till dark, ’f we like. Summer 
nights ain’t never lonesome. An’ Sat’day’s full 
of folks.” 

Travis laughed. “All right. Push your hat 
up higher — so. No, let your hair stay tum- 
bled.” 

“ It isn’t pritty hair. They used to call me red- 
top, an’ names. Tain’t so red as it was.” 


36 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


She ran her fingers through it, and gave her 
head a shake. 

“Capital.” He had just drawn out his sketch- 
book, when the policeman came down with a sol- 
emn tread and authoritative countenance. But 
Travis nodded, and gave him an assuring smile 
that all was right. 

“Let me see; I think I’ll tell you about an 
old apple orchard I know. You never saw one in 
bloom } ” 

“ Oh, do apples have flowers ^ ” cried Bess. 
“There’s never any such in the stores. What 
a wonderful thing country must be ! ” 

“The blossom comes first, then the fruit.” 
Then he began with the fascinating preface : 
“When I was a little boy I had been ill a long 
while with scarlet fever. It was the middle of 
May when I was taken to the country.” 

What a wonderful romance he made of bloom 
and bird music, of chickens and cows, of lambs, 
of the little colt that ran in the orchard, so very 
shy at first, and then growing so tame that the 
little lad took him for a playfellow. Very simple 
indeed, but he held his small audience entranced. 
The delight in Bess’s face seemed to bring fine 
and tender expressions to that of Dil. Her nose 
wrinkled piquantly, her lips fell into beguiling 
curves. Travis found himself speculating upon 


SATURDAY kFTERNOON 


37 


the capacity of the face under the influence of 
cultivation, education, and happiness. He really 
hated to leave off, there were so many inspiring 
possibilities. 

Now and then some one gave them a sidelong 
glance of wonder; but Travis went on in a steady, 
business-like manner ; and the guardian of the 
square shielded them from undue curiosity. 

Bess isn’t well,” he said presently. “ She 
looks like a little ghost.” 

“ She was hurted a long while ago and she can’t 
walk. Her little legs is just like a baby’s, an’ 
they never grow any more. But she won’t grow 
either, and I don’t so much mind so long as I can 
carry her.” 

“ Will she never walk again ” he asked in sur- 
prise. “ How old is she 

“ She’s ten ; but she’s littler than the boys now, 
so she’s the baby — the sweetest baby of thim 
all.” 

Ah, what a wealth of love spoke in the tone, in 
the simple words. 

I think you may take off Bess’s cap,” he said, 
with an unconsciously tender manner. Poor little 
girl ! And yet it could not be for very long. He 
noted the lines made by suffering, and his heart 
went out in sympathy. 

“Now, if there is anything you would like to 


38 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


ask me — anything that puzzles you” — and he 
reflected that most things might seem mysteries 
to their untrained brains. 

They glanced at each other and drew long 
breaths, as if this was the golden opportunity 
they had long waited for. Then an irresistibly 
shy, sweet, beseeching expression crossed Bess’s 
face, as her eyes wandered from him to her 
sister. 

“ O Dil — you might ast him ’bout — you 
know ” — hesitating with pitiful eagerness in her 
large eyes — “’bout goin’ to heaven, an’ how far 
it is.” 

“ Do you know where heaven is, mister } ” 

The question was asked with the good faith of 
utter ignorance ; but there was an intense and 
puzzled anxiety in every line of the child’s coun- 
tenance. 

“ Heaven ! ” He was struck with a strange 
mental helplessness. “ Heaven !” he repeated. 

“Don’t anybody know for true.?” A despair 
quenched the sunshine in the brown eyes and 
made outer darkness. 

“An’ how they get there.?” continued Bess 
breathlessly. “That’s what we wanter know, 
’cause Dil wants to go an’ take me. Is it very, 
very far .? ” 

Travis glanced at Dil. Never in his life had 


SATURDAY AFTERNOON 


39 


he been more at loss. There was a line between 
her brows, and the wrinkled nose added to the 
weight of thoughtfulness. Never had he seen a 
few wrinkles express so much. 

She felt as if he was questioning her. 

“I went to the Mission School, you see,” she 
began to explain. “The teacher read about a 
woman who took her children an’ a girl who 
lived with her, an’ started for heaven. Then 
Owny took my shoes, ’cause ’twas wet an’ slushy 
’n’ I couldn’t go, an’ so I didn’t hear if they got 
there. ’N’ when I went again, that teacher had 
gone away. I didn’t like the new wan. When 
I ast her she said it was a gory somethin’, an’ 
you didn’t go that way to heaven now.” 

“An allegory, yes.” 

“ Then, what’s that ? ” 

“A story of something that maj/ happen, like 
every-day events.” Ah, how could he meet the 
comprehension of these innocent children.'* 

“ Well, did she get there ? ” with eager haste. 

The sparrows went on with their cheerful, 
rather aggressive chirp. The fountain played, 
people passed to and fro, and wagons rumbled ; 
but it seemed to John Travis as if there were 
only themselves in the wide world — and God. 
He did not understand God, but he knew then 
there was some supreme power above man. 


40 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


“Yes,” with reverent gentleness, “yes, she 
found heaven.” 

“Then, what’s to hinder us, Dil? ’Twouldn’t 
be any use to ast mother — she’d rather go to 
Cunny Island or Mis’ MacBride’s. If you only 
would tell us the way ” — 

“Yes; if you could tell us the way,” said Dil 
wistfully, raising her entreating eyes. 

Could he direct any one on the road to heaven } 
And then he admitted to himself that he had cast 
away the faint clew of years agone, and would not 
know what step to take first. 

“You see,” explained Dil hurriedly, “I thought 
when we’d found just how to go, I’d take Bess 
some Sunday mornin’, an’ we’d go up by Cent’l 
Park and over by the river, ’cause they useter 
sing ‘ One more river to cross.’ Then we’d get 
on a ferry-boat. Mother wouldn’t care much. 
She don’t care for Bess since she’s hurted, and 
won’t never be no good. But I could take care of 
her ; an’ when we struck the right way, ’twould be 
just goin’ straight along. I could scrub an’ ’tend 
babies an’ sweep an’ earn some money. People 
was good to the woman in the story, an’ mebbe 
they’d be good to us when we were on the road 
an’ no mistake. If we could just get started.” 

Oh, the eager, appealing desire in her face, the 
faith and fervor in her voice ! A poor little pil- 


SATURDAY AFTERNOON 


41 


grim, not even knowing what the City of Destruc- 
tion meant, longing with all her soul to set out 
for that better country, and take her poor little 
crippled sister. It moved him beyond anything 
he had ever known, and blurred the sunshine with 
a tremulous mistiness. 

Dil was watching the varying expressions. 

“ O mister, ain’t there any heaven .? Will we 
have to go on living in Barker’s Court forever 
’n’ ever ? ” 

The despair in Dil’s voice was heartrending. 
John Travis thought he had passed one hour of 
crucial anguish; but it was as nothing to this, in- 
asmuch as the pang of the soul must exceed the 
purely physical pain. He drew a long, quivering 
breath. 

‘‘ Oh, there ain’t any ! ” 

He was on the witness stand. To destroy their 
hope would be a crueler murder than that of the 
innocents. No, he dared not deny God. 


42 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


III 

THE WAY TO HEAVEN 

John Travis was like a good many young men 
in the tide of respectable church-going. His 
grandmother was an old-fashioned Christian, 
rather antiquated now ; but he still enjoyed the 
old cottage and the orchard of long ago. His 
mother was a modern church member. They 
never confessed their experiences one to another 
in the fervent spiritual manner, but had clubs and 
guilds and societies to train the working-people. 
She was interested in charitable institutions, in 
homes, and the like ; that is, she subscribed liber- 
ally and supervised them. Personally she was 
rather disgusted with the inmates and their woes, 
whose lives and duties were mapped out by rule, 
whether they fitted or not. 

Then, he had two sisters who were nice, whole- 
some, attractive girls, who danced all winter in 
silks and laces, kept Lent rigorously with early 
services, sewing-classes, and historical lectures, 
and took their turns in visiting the slums. All 


THE WAY TO HEAVEN 


43 


summQr there was pleasuring. The young women 
in their “set” were much alike, and he wondered 
who of them all could show these little waifs the 
way to heaven. 

For himself, he had gone through college hon- 
orably. He was a moral young man, because a 
certain fine, clean instinct and artistic sense for- 
bade any excesses. To be sure, he had read 
Strauss and Renan after his Darwin and Spencer, 
he had even dipped into the bitter fountains of 
Schopenhauer. He had a jaunty idea that the 
myths and miracles of the Bible were the fables 
and legends of the nations in the earlier stages of 
their development, quite outgrown in these later 
days of exact philosophical reasoning. 

But as he sat there, with these children’s eyes 
fixed upon him with an intent life-and-death ex- 
pression, uttering a strong, inward soul cry that 
reached his ears and would not be shut out, a cer- 
tain assurance came to him. These tender little 
souls were waiting for the word that was to lead 
them in the way of life everlasting. “Whoso 
offendeth one of these little ones” — it was there 
in letters of fire. 

What but heaven could compensate them for 
their dreary lives here ! What but the love of 
God infold them when father and mother had 
failed. For surely they had not demanded any 


44 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


part in the struggle of life. Ah, if the de^d rose 
not again — what refinement of cruelty to send 
human beings into the world to suffer like brutes, 
having a higher consciousness to intensify it ten- 
fold, and then be thrust into the terrible darkness 
of nothingness. Even he was not willing to come 
to a blank, purposeless end. 

He had been sketching rapidly, but he saw the 
little faces changing with an uncomprehended 
dread. Dil’s sunshine was going out in sullen 
despair. Yes, he 7nust bear witness — for to-day, 
for all time, for all human souls. In that mo- 
ment he believed. A rejoicing, reverent con- 
sciousness was awakened within him ; and the new 
man had been born, the man who desired to learn 
the way to heaven, even as these little children. 

“Yes, there is a heaven.” He could feel the 
tremulousness in his voice, yet the assurance 
touched him with inexpressible sweetness, so new 
and strange was it. “There is a God who cares 
for us all, loves us all, and who has prepared a 
beautiful land of rest where there is no pain nor 
sorrow, where no one is sick or lonely or in any 
want, where the Lord Jesus gathers the sorrowing 
into his arms, and wipes away their tears, soothes 
them with his own great love, which is sweeter 
and tenderer than the best human love.” 

“Oh,” cried Dil, as he paused, “are you jest 


THE WAY TO HEAVEN 


4 ^ 


certain sure? There was a little old lady who 
came and sang once ’bout a beautiful country, 
everlastin’ spring, an’ never with’rin’ flowers. I 
didn’t get the hang of it all, but it left a sort of 
sweetness in the air that you could almost feel, 
you know. Don’t you b’lieve she knew ’bout the 
truly heaven?” 

Dil’s brown eyes were illumined again. 

1 “Yes — that was heaven.” His grandmother 
sang that old hymn. He would go up there and 
learn it some day, and tell her that in the midst 
of the great city he had borne witness to the faith. 
The knowledge was so new and strange that it 
filled him with great humility, made him a little 
child like one of these. 

“Oh,” cried Dil, with a long, restful sigh of sat- 
isfaction, while every line of her face was transfig- 
ured, “you must know, ’cause, you see, you’ve had 
chances. You can read books and all. And now 
I am quite sure — Bess an’ me,” placing her 
hand lovingly over the little white one. “An’ 
mebbe you c’n tell us just how to go. And when 
you come to the place, there’s a bridge or some- 
thing that people get over, and go up beyond the 
sky — jest back of the blue sky,” with a certain 
confident, happy emphasis in the narrow, but rapt, 
vision. 

“ Couldn’t we start right away ? ” cried Bess 


46 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


with eager hopefulness, her wan little face in a 
glow of excitement. '‘What’s the good o’ goin’ 
back home } Me an’ Dil have talked it over an’ 
over. An’ there must be crowds an’ crowds goin’, 
— people who are strong and well, an’ can run. 
Why, I sh’d think they’d be in an awful hurry to 
get there. An’ you said no one would be sick. 
My head aches so when the babies cry, an’ my 
poor back is so tired an’ sore. Oh, if I had two 
good legs, so Dil wouldn’t have to push me an’ lift 
me out an’ in ! O Dil, do let’s go ! ” 

She was trembling with excitement, and her 
eyes were a luminous glow. 

What could John Travis say to these eager 
pilgrims } He did not remember that he had 
ever known any one in a hurry to get to heaven. 
How strange it was ! And how could he explain 
this great mystery of which he knew so little, — 
the walk that was by faith, not sight ? 

“ You said you had been to the Mission School,” 
catching at that straw eagerly. “ Did they not 
tell you — teach you” — and he paused in con- 
fusion. 

“I ain’t been much. Mammy don’t b’lieve in 
thim. An’ I think they don’t know. One tells 
you one thing, an’ the nex’ one another. One 
woman said the sky was all stars through an’ 
through, an’ heaven was jest round you, an’ 


THE WAY TO HEAVEN 


47 


where you lived. Well, if it’s Barker’s Court,” 
and she made a strange, impressive pause, ’tain’t 
much like the place the woman set out for.” 

“ She left the City of Destruction. Her name 
was Christiana.” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” kindling anew with awakened mem- 
ory. Well, that’s Barker’s Court. There’s 
fightin*, an’ swearin’, an’ gettin’ drunk, an’ bein’ 
’rested. Poor Bess hears ’em in the night when 
she can’t sleep. An’ the woman went away, an’ 
took her children. But mammy wouldn’t go, an’ 
we’ll have to start by our two selves. O mister ! 
do you know anything ’bout prayin’ > The teacher 
told me how, an’ I prayed ’bout Bess’s poor legs, 
an’ that mother’d let rum alone, an’ not go off into 
tantrums the way pop uster. An’ it didn’t do a 
bit o’ good.” 

She looked up so perplexed. This was not sci- 
entific or philosophical ignorance, — he could find 
arguments to combat that ; it was not unwilling- 
ness to try, but the utter innocent ignorance, 
with the boundary of certain literal experiences. 
But how could he explain.? From the depths of 
his heart he cried for wisdom. 

“It is a long journey, and the summer is almost 
gone,” he said, after some consideration. “ The 
cold weather will be here presently, and you are 
both so little; suppose you wait until next spring.? 


48 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


I will find you that book about Christiana, and you 
can learn a good many things — and be getting 
ready ” — 

He knew he was paltering with a miserable 
subterfuge ; but, oh ! what could he say ? Surely, 
ere violets bloomed again and buttercups were 
golden, Bess would have solved the great mys- 
tery. Ah, to think of her as well and rejoicing 
in heaven ! It moved all one’s heart in grati- 
tude. 

Both children looked pitifully disappointed. 
Bess was first to recover. The tears shone in 
her eyes as she said, — 

“ Well, le’s wait. My clo’es is most worn out, 
an’ the cold pinches me up so, Dil, you know. 
An’ it’ll be nice to find how Christiana went. 
How’ll we get the book ? ” 

I will bring it to you,” he promised. 

“ An’ will there be wild roses in heaven Bess 
fingered the poor faded buds as if her conscience 
suddenly smote her. 

All beautiful things ; and they will not wither 
in that divine air.” 

She pressed them against her cheek with a 
touch so tender he could have blessed her for it. 
And there came the other vision of the soft white 
fingers that had torn them so ruthlessly in her 
anger ; of the: hot, passionate words ! Would she 


THE WAY TO HEAVEN 


49 


forgive if he went to her, or would she tread his 
olive branch in the dust ? 

“Tell me something about yourselves;” and he 
roused from his dream abruptly. “ Where is your 
father.?” 

“’Twas him that hurted Bess’s legs, an’ he got 
jugged for it. He beat mammy dreadful — he 
uster when he had the drink in him. An’ now 
mammy’s goin’ the same way. That’s why I’d like 
to take Bess somewhere ” — 

“ Are there just you two .? ” 

“ There’s Owen an’ Dan. They’re little chaps, 
but they’d get along. Boys soon get big enough 
to strike back. An’ some one else ’ud have to 
look out for the babies.” 

“ Babies ! How many .? ” in amaze. 

“ I keep thim when their mothers go to work. 
Sometimes they’re cross, and it’s dreadful for poor 
Bess.” 

“ And your mother allows you to do that .? ” 

“ She’s got ter ! ” cried Bess, her smouldering 
indignation breaking out. “An keep the house. 
An’ when there’s only two or three mother swears 
she’ll send Dil to the shop to work. So we’d 
rather have thim, for it would be dreadful for me 
to be without Dil, don’t you see .? ” 

Yes, he saw, and his heart ached. He had 
a vague idea of some of the comfortable homes. 


50 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


but to be without Dil ! “Did his mother and 
sisters ever meet with any such lives, and such 
tender devotion?” he wondered. It was enough 
to break one’s heart. It almost broke his to think 
he could not rescue them. The picturesque as- 
pects of poverty had appealed to him in the street- 
gamins and ragged old men who besieged him for 
“ tin cints fer a night’s lodgin’,” that he knew 
would be spent for whiskey in the nearest saloon ; 
but of the actual lives of the very poor he had but 
the vaguest idea. 

“And your mother?” he ventured, dreading the 
reply. 

“She goes out washin’. ’Tisn’t so very bad, 
you see,” returned Dil, with a certain something 
akin to pride. “ Beggin’s worse.” 

He had finished the sketches, — there were 
several of them, — and he began to gather up his 
pencils. 

“ Now that the work is done, we must have a 
picnic,” he said cheerfully. “ I’ll find a fruit-stand 
somewhere. Keep right here until I return.” 

The children gazed at each other in a sort of 
speechless wonder. There were no words to ex- 
press the strange joy that filled each heart. Their 
eyes followed him in and out, and even when 
he was lost to sight their faith remained perfect. 
Then they looked at each other, still in amazement. 


THE WAY TO HEAVEN 


51 


‘‘It’s better’n Cunny Island,” said Bess. “I’ve 
wisht we could go sometime when mother’s 
startin’ out. But if she’d been good an’ tooken 
us, we wouldn’t a’ seen him. But I’m kinder 
sorry not to start right away, after all. Only 
there’s the cold, an’ I ain’t got no clo’es. Mebbe 
he knows best. An’ he’s so nice.” 

“ It’s curis,” Dil said after a long pause. “ I 
wisht I could read quick an’ had some learnin’. 
There’s so many things to know. There’s so 
many people in the world, an’ some of thim have 
such nice things, an’ can go . to places ” — 

“ Their folks don’t drink rum, mebbe,” returned 
the little one sententiously. 

“ I don’t s’pose you can get out of it ’cept by 
goin’ to heaven. But then, why — mebbe the 
others what’s havin’ good times don’t care to go. 
Mebbe he won’t,” drearily. 

He soon returned with a bag of fruit. Such 
pears, such peaches, and bananas ! And when he 
took out his silver fruit-knife, pared them, and 
made little plates out of paper, their wonder was 
beyond any words. 

Dil eyed hers askance. She was so used to 
saving the best. 

“ Oh, do eat it,” cried Bess. “You never tasted 
anything like it ! O mister, please tell her to. 
She’s alwers keepin’ things for me.” 


52 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


** There will be plenty for you to take home. I 
must find you some flowers too. And this even- 
ing I am going to start on a journey — to be away 
several weeks. I’m sorry to lose sight of you, 
and I want to know how to find Barker’s Court. 
When I come back — would your mother mind 
your posing for me, do you think } ” 

“ Posing } ” Dil looked frightened. 

Just what you did this afternoon. Being put 
in a picture.” 

It had suddenly come into his mind that he 
could lighten Dil’s burthen that way. He wanted 
to keep track of them. 

“ And what do you do with the pictures } ” 

Sell them ” — and he smiled. 

“You couldn’t sell me ; I’m not pritty enough,” 
she said, with the utter absence of all personal 
vanity, and a latent sense of amusement. 

“When I come back we will talk about it. 
And I will bring you the book. You will learn 
more than I can tell you. I used to read it when 
I was a boy. And then we will talk about — 
going to heaven.” 

He colored a little, and his heart beat with a 
new and unwonted emotion. 

“You’re quite sure we can go nex’ spring?” 
queried Bess. “ Do many people live there ?” 

“ The Lord Jesus Christ and all his angels,” he 


THE WAY TO HEAVEN 


53 


answered reverently. “ And the saints who have 
been redeemed, little children, and a multitude no 
man can number.” 

A perplexing frown settled between Dil’s eyes. 

“ Seems as if I couldn’t never get the thing 
straight ’bout — ’bout Jesus Christ,” and a flush 
wavered over her face. “ When the people in the 
court get drunk and fight, they swear ’bout him. 
If he jest gives people strength to beat and bang 
each other, how can he help ’em to be good.^ 
Maybe there’s more than one. An’ why don’t 
the one who lives in the beautiful heaven have a 
different name. I ast the Mission teacher once, 
an’ she said I was a wicked girl. Mammy said 
there wasn’t any God at all. How do you 
know.? ” 

There was a brave, eager innocence in her eyes, 
and a curious urgency as well. 

“’Cause,” she subjoined, “if God lives in 
heaven and keeps it for people, if there wasn’t any 
God, there couldn’t be any heaven. Some folks in 
the court have the Virgin Mary, but I never see 
God.” 

There was no irreverence in her tone, but a per- 
plexed wonder. And John Travis was helpless 
before it. How did the missionaries who went to 
the heathen ever make them understand .? They 
had their idols of wood and stone, and had prayed 


54 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


to them ; but this child had no God, not even an 
idol, though she loved Bess with every fibre of 
her being. 

And he had almost said in his heart, “ There is 
no God.” A first great cause, an atom rushing 
blindly about the darkness for another atom, a 
protoplasm, a long series of evolutions — how 
complacent he had been about it all ! Could he 
teach these children science ? He had heard 
the talk of the slums occasionally, blood-curdling 
oaths, threats, wishes, curses hurled at one an- 
other. These two little girls lived in it. Could 
any one enlighten them, unless they were taken 
to a new, clean world Yet their souls seemed 
scarcely soiled by the contact, their faces bore the 
impress of purity. 

Was it thus when the Lord came in the flesh, 
when the wickedness of the world was very great, 
its hopelessness well nigh fatal.!* He found many 
ignorant souls ; but they learned of him and be- 
lieved, and went forth to convert the world. Was 
it so much more wicked now ? 

‘‘ Let me tell you about the true Jesus,” he 
said in a soft, low tone, almost afraid to bear wit- 
ness, he was so ignorant himself. “ Long ago, 
when people were full of sorrow and suffering, and 
had forgotten how to be good to each other, God, 
who lived in this beautiful heaven, sent his Son 


THE WAY TO HEAVEN 


55 


down to teach them. He came and lived among 
them and helped them. Why, my little Dil, it’s 
just like your caring for Bess. She can never do 
anything to pay you back. She cannot sweep the 
house, nor tend the babies, nor sew, nor earn 
money. But you do it because you love her, and 
you only want love in return. She gives it to 
you.” 

Dil stared stupidly. “ I don’t want her to do 
nothin’,’’ she said, with a quivering lip. 

“ But you want her to love you.” 

“ How could I help it ” cried Bess. 

“ No, you couldn’t. And when the Lord found 
people ill and lame and blind, he cured them ” — 

‘‘ O mister ! ” interrupted Bess, with her face 
in a glow of wonderful light, “ do you s’pose he 
could have cured my poor hurted little legs so’s I 
could walk on ’em agen ? ” 

Yes, my child. He would have taken you 
in his arms and laid his hand on you, and you 
would have been strong and well.” 

“And where is he now ? ” she asked eagerly. 

“He went back to heaven — to his Father.” 
Ah, how could he explain to their limited under- 
standing the sacrifice that had redeemed the 
world. He began to realize that faith for one’s 
self was easier than giving a reason for one’s faith. 
“ He told people how to be kind and tender and 


56 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


loving, and to care for those in pain and sickness. 
He begged them to do it because he had loved 
them. That was all he wanted back. But there 
were ungrateful people, and those who were eager 
to fight and destroy each other, and they would 
not listen to him. But when he went away he left 
others, teachers, and they go on telling people ” — 

How could he make it simple enough for their 
comprehension ? He was in despair. 

“ Then he called those together who loved him 
and were willing to be good and kind, and said to 
them, ‘ In my Father’s house are many mansions 
— I go to prepare a place that you may be with 
me ’ ” — 

And that’s heaven,” interrupted Bess, her 
eyes shining and her lips pink and quivering. “ O 
Dil ! that’s where we are to go. I can’t hardly 
wait till spring. An’ soon’s we get there. I’ll ast 
him to cure my poor little legs poppy hurted when 
he threw me ’gainst the wall. Oh, are you sure, 
sure he will, so I can run about agen ? Seems 
jes’ too good to happen.” 

“Yes, I am sure. He took little children in 
his arms and blessed them when they crowded 
around him so that people would have driven 
them away. And he said, ‘ I have a heaven for all 
those who suffer, all those whose parents beat or 
maim or starve them. I will take them to my 


THE WAY TO HEAVEN 


57 


beautiful home, and they shall never suffer any 
more. They shall roam in lovely gardens and 
gather flowers, and sing and love and obey me, 
and be happy.’ ” 

“ O Dil, will you mind if I love this Lord Jesus ? 
For he is so good I can’t help it. I shall always 
love you best. I will tell him how it was — that 
you loved me when there wasn’t any one else, 
and mammy wanted me to die ’cause I was so 
much trouble. An’, Dil, don’t you b’lieve he will 
say that was jest the kind of love he preached 
about, and ’cause you did it you must have a place 
right by me } ” 

The tears came to John Travis’s eyes. He 
wondered if the Master had ever been rewarded 
with a more exquisite joy. 

Dil squeezed her hand. 

“ Oh,” cried Bess, “ when we start to go to 
heaven in the spring, won’t you go along.? We’d 
like to have you so. Don’t they have grown-up 
men in heaven .? You’re so nice an’ clean an’ 
different from most folks, I sh’d think you’d like 
to go.” 

“Yes, I will,” in the tone of one who gives a 
sacred promise. When he came to think of it, 
very few people had asked him to go to heaven. 

“ Seems too good to be true,” said Dil senten- 
tiously. “ Good things mos’ly ain’t true. An’ it 
all seems so strange” — 


58 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


“We’ll talk it over while we are going to 
heaven,” he said with grave sweetness, glancing 
at his watch and amazed at the lateness. “ I will 
bring you Christiana, and when you have read 
that I can explain many things to you. I shall 
have to go now. Tell me how to find Barker’s 
Court when I come back.” 

“You won’t like it,” Dil exclaimed sharply. 
“ It’s dirty, an’ horrid, full of women washing 
clo’es, an’ drunken people, an’ swearin’. Oh, let 
me bring Bess over here. And the picture ” — 

“You shall have that. But I can’t tell just 
when I shall be able to come. Never fear but 
I’ll find you. Here is something because you and 
Bess posed.” 

It was a five-dollar note. Dil drew back in 
dismay. 

“ O mister, I couldn’t take it. I’m afeard some 
one’d think I stole it — so much money ! ” 

He changed the bill into smaller ones. Then 
he slipped it into the bag of fruit. 

“This is Bess’s bank,” he said, with a friendly, 
trusty smile. “ When she wants any delicacies, 
you must spend the money for them. It is Bess’s 
secret, and you must not tell any one.”. 

He thrust the bag at the foot of the shabby 
carriage, and then pressed both hands. 

“ You’re so lovely, so splendid,” sighed Bess. 


THE WAY TO HEAVEN 59 

He picked up three withered buds — had some 
hands very dear to him held them ? 

“ Good-by. I shall find Barker’s Court and you, 
never fear.” Then he plunged into the crowd, not 
daring to look back. What a week it had been, 
beginning with sorrow and loss, and — had he 
found the Master ? Had these strange, brave 
little heathens, who knew not God, opened his 
eyes and his heart to that better way ? 


6o 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


IV 

THE DELIGHTS OF WEALTH 

The children sat there in a maze of bewilder- 
ment. They knew nothing of fairy godmothers, 
or Santa Claus, or the dainty myths of childhood. 
Four years Bess had been in prison, twice four 
years Dilsey Quinn had been a bound slave. Not 
that Mrs. Quinn had been hard above all mothers. 
In the next house there were two little girls who 
sat and sewed from daylight to dark, and had no 
Saturday even, the age of Owen and Bess. Bar 
ker’s Court was an industrious place for children, 
at least. If they could have played when the 
men were sleeping off orgies, or the women gos- 
siping, they would have had many a respite from 
toil. 

This wonderful thing that had befallen Bess 
and Dil was so beyond any event that had ever 
happened before, and their imaginations were so 
limited, they could never have dreamed such a 
romance. John Travis had disappeared in the 
throng. But there was the bag of fruit, and the 
sweet knowledge that nothing could take away. 


THE DELIGHTS OF WEALTH 6 1 

The roar of vehicles had grown less. Pedes- 
trians were thinning out, for supper-time was 
drawing nigh. The shadows were lengthening; 
the wind had a certain grateful coolness. Still 
they sat as in a trance. The “ cop ” had received 
a “ tip ” to keep a kindly watch over them, but 
he would have done it without any reward. 

“Dil!” The soft voice broke the hush, for it 
was as if they two were alone in the crowd. 

The little fingers closed over the firm brown 
ones. They looked at each other for some mo- 
ments with grave, wondering eyes. Then Dil 
rose soberly, settled Bess anew, and pushed the 
wagon along. The paper bag lay in plain sight, 
but no one molested it. 

Dil began to come back to her narrow, practical 
world. Heaven, as John Travis had put it, was 
something for Bess rather than herself. It was 
too great a feast to sit down to all at once. And 
Dil was not much used to feasting, even playing 
at it with bits of broken crockery and make- 
believes, as so many children do. They left the 
enchanted country behind them, and returned to 
more familiar sights and sounds. Still, the de- 
licious fragrance of the pears, the flavor of the 
peaches, the sweetness of the candy, was so 
much beyond the treats over on the East Side. 

“ Bess,” she said, stopping at a show window 


62 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


on the avenue, “jes’ look at the caps an’ things. 
Do you s’pose it’s real money in the bag.? For 
it’s yours, an’ you do need a new cap. That old 
one’ll hardly hold together. If some one doesn’t 
give mammy a pile of things pritty soon, you’ll 
have to go naked.” 

They both laughed. “ O Dil ! wasn’t it splen- 
did .? ” and Bess turned her head around, as if she 
might still see their beneficent friend. 

“ Let me feel in my bank,” she said. 

Dil handed her the bag, full of fruity fragrance. 
She drew out a bill with a fearful little gesture. 

“They’re good, all of ’em,” she said reassur- 
ingly. “He wouldn’t give us bad money to get 
us into trouble. An’ we never have any real 
money to spend.” 

Still Dil eyed the bill doubtfully. 

“ An’ flannils, an’ O Dil, couldn’t you buy one 
new dress .? I’d like to have a spandy new one 
for onct.” 

“ I s’pose mother wouldn’t know when onct it 
was washed. An’ I might crumple down the 
bows on the cap. O Bess, you’d look so sweet ! 
I wisht you’d had a new cap to-day. He said 
’twas your money. An’ I was most afear’d it was 
like thim things Patsey told about, when you 
raised the han’kercher they wasn’t there ! ” 

“ But they’re here.” She laughed with soft 


THE DELIGHTS OF WEALTH 63 

exultation. Le’s go in, Dil. I never went shop- 
pin’ in my life ! You could hide the things away 
from mammy. There’d be no use givin’ it to her. 
She’s got enough for gin an’ to go to Cunny 
Island an’ MacBride’s. But jinky! wouldn’t she 
crack our skulls if she did know it. O Dil, let’s 
never, never tell.” 

“ She couldn’t make me tell if she killed me.” 

“ Le’s go in. Can you carry me } ” 

She drew the wagon up by the corner of the 
show-window, and, taking Bess in her arms, en- 
tered the store and seated her on a stool, standing 
so she could brace the weak little back. Of the 
few dreams that had found lodgment in Dil’s 
prosaic brain, was this of indulging her motherly, 
womanly instinct, shopping for Bess. She felt 
dazed to have it come true. Her face flushed, 
her breath came irregularly, her heart beat with 
a delicious, half-guilty pleasure. 

There was no one else in the store. A pale, 
tired, but kindly-looking woman came to wait on 
her. Dil tried on caps with laces and ribbons, 
and Bess looked so angelic it broke her heart to 
take them off. But the plain ones were less 
likely to betray them. Then they looked at 
dresses and the coveted “ flannils,” and one nice 
soft petticoat, and oh, some new stockings. 

A shrewd little shopper was Dil. She counted 


64 IN WILD-ROSE TIME 

up every purchase, and laid aside the sum, really 
surprised at her bargains and the amount she had 
left. The attendant was very sympathetic, and 
inquired what had befallen Bess. Dil said she 
had been hurted by a bad fall, that her mother 
was ’most always out to work, and that they hadn’t 
any father. She was afraid her mother might be 
washing somewhere, and hear the story, if she 
was too explicit. 

“ Le’s buy a han’kercher for Patsey,” suggested 
Bess, her pale face in a glow. 

They chose one with a pink border, thinking 
of the wild roses that had brought such great 
good luck. 

“ And here is a blue belt ribbon for the little 
girl,” said the lady. “ It’s been in the window, 
and has two faded places, but you can tie them in 
the bow.” 

Dil had been struggling between economy and 
a belt ribbon. She raised her brown eyes so full 
of delight that words were hardly needed. 

They packed up their goods and departed. 
Bess wore her cap, and held up her head like a 
real lady. I doubt if there were two happier 
children in the whole city. 

Dusk was beginning to fall ; but all the stores 
were in a glow, and now people were coming out 
again after supper. They seldom stayed this late. 


THE DELIGHTS OF WEALTH 65 

but to-night they were quite safe. And oh, how 
splendid it all was ! the happiness of a lifetime. 

Bess kept turning partly round and talking out 
her delight. Pain and weariness were forgotten. 
They laughed in sheer gladness. If John Travis 
could have seen them, he would have said he had 
never in his life made such an investment of five 
dollars. 

And we’ve only spent a little over two. Oh, 
what a lot of things you can buy when you have 
some money ! An’, Dil, we’ll put away a good 
bit, so’s when there ain’t many babies mother 
won’t bang you. Oh, she’d kill us both dead an’ 
take the money if she knew, wouldn’t she ? ” 

She would that,” subjoined Dil grimly. 

Poor Dil had been banged pretty severely in 
her short day. Last spring Mrs. Quinn had been 
complained of, as the “ banging ” had been so 
severe that Dil had fainted, and had to keep her 
bed several days. 

“ Oh, I wisht we wasn’t ever going home,” 
sighed Bess. “ If I had two good legs we’d run 
away like that Mullin girl. An’ now that I’ve got 
some clo’es. I’m sorry we can’t go right off. Nex’ 
spring — how many months, Dil ? ” 

August was almost ended. Seven long, weary 
months at the best. 

“ There’s Thanksgivin’ an’ Christmas, an’ — an’ 


66 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


St. Patrick’s; that’s in March, I know. An’ after 
that it gen’ally comes warm. Oh, it seems as if 
I couldn’t wait ! But the man will come with 
Christiana, an’ then we’ll find how to go without 
gettin’ lost or makin’ a mistake. Ain’t it queer ? 
I should think everybody’d want to go.” 

The big eyes were full of wonder. 

“ Well, you see the people who have money an’ 
things an’ flowers an’ journeys an’ live in grand 
houses don’t need to be in a hurry. ’Tain’t of 
so much account to them. An’ I guess people 
haven’t got the straight of it, someway.” 

Poor Dil! She wasn’t very straight in her own 
mind. If God could give people so much, why 
didn’t he do it now ? Or if they had to go to 
heaven for it, why wasn’t it made plain, and you 
could be let to start whenever you desired ? 

Bess’s confidence gave her a curiously apprehen- 
sive feeling. Suppose there wasn’t any heaven } 
The mystery was incomprehensible. 

It was late when they reached home. Oh, the 
sickening heat and smells ! But at this hour on 
Saturday night the court was comparatively quiet. 
The revelry began later. 

Dan sat on the stoop crying. He had been in 
a fight, and the under dog at that, and had one 
black eye, and his jacket torn to ribbons. 

“An’ mother’ll wollop me for the jacket,” he 
whimpered. 


THE DELIGHTS OF WEALTH 6/ 

“Come an’ have yer eye tied up with cold 
water. I did a bit of work this afternoon, an’ 
got some goodies, an’ you shall have some. Oh, 
it’s pritty bad, Dan. Take my penny an’ go buy 
an oyster, — that’ll help get the black out.” 

Dan was mightily tempted to spend the penny 
otherwise, but the thought of the goodies re- 
strained him. Dil took Bess and the “treasures” 
up-stairs, and laid her gently on the old lounge. 
She had everything put away when Dan returned, 
so she washed his face and bound up his eye. 

He ceased sniffling, and cried, “ O golly ! ” at 
the sight of two luscious bananas. “ Dil, ye wor 
in luck ! I didn’t even see a chance to snivy on 
an apple. Store folks is mighty s’picious, watch- 
in’ out.” 

“ O Dan ! It’s wicked to steal ! ” 

“None o’ yer gals’ gaff!” said Dan with his 
mouth full. “Snivyin’ somethin’ ter eat ain’t no 
stealin’. An’ I’m hungry as an elefunt.” 

Dil fixed him some supper, and he devoured 
it with the apparent capacity of the elephant. 
Then, as he was very tired and used up, he tum- 
bled on his straw pallet in his mother’s room, 
and in five minutes was asleep. 

Now the young conspirators had to consider 
about a hiding-place for their unaccustomed treas- 


ures. 


68 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


“I’ll tell you,” and Bess laughed shrewdly, 
“ we’ll make a bank under the cushion of the 
wagon.” At the risk of smothering Dan, they 
had shut his door. “ Mother wouldn’t dast to 
tumble me out, and no one knows. An’ we’ll 
call it somethin’ else. We’ll never say m ” — 

“Yes.” Dil put it in the paper bag, and then 
she made the night bed on top of it. What a 
fortune it was! They glanced furtively at each 
other, as if questioning their right to it. 

“ Mammy seldom does look round,” said Dil ; 
“an’ I’ll clear the room up on Fridays, I some- 
times do. An’ I’ll tell her I made the dress, if 
she spies it out. No, that would be a lie, an’ 
tellin’ lies roughs you up inside, though some- 
times it’s better than bein’ banged. Bess, dear, 
I wish it was all true ’bout heaven.” 

“ It is true, I feel it all over me.” 

Poor Dil sighed softly. She wasn’t so sure. 

Then she bathed Bess, and threw away the 
ragged garments. Bess was tired, but bright and 
happy. They stowed away their purchases, and 
were all settled when Owen came in. No one 
would have guessed the rare holiday. 

Barker’s Court was beginning its weekly orgy 
— singing, swearing, dancing, fighting, and for- 
tunate if there was not an arrest or two. But Dil 
was so tired that she slept through it all, forget- 


THE DELIGHTS OF WEALTH 69 

ting about the money, and not even haunted by 
dreams. 

It was past midnight when Mrs. Quinn re- 
turned, to find everything still within. She tum- 
bled across her bed, and slept the sleep of a 
drunken woman until Sunday noon. 

Dil looked after the breakfast. Dan’s eye was 
much improved. Out of an old bundle she found 
a jacket a size or two beyond him, but the chil- 
dren of the slums are not critical. The boys 
went out to roam the streets. Patsey sidled in 
with a knowing wink towards Mrs. Quinn’s 
chamber door. It was nearly always safe on 
Sunday morning. He had a handful of flowers. 

They gave him his “ hankercher.” But some- 
how they couldn’t tell him of their adventure. 

“But yous oughtn’t ’er spend yer tin on me,” 
he said with awkward gratefulness. “Yous don’t 
have much look fer scrapin’ it up.” 

“But you’re alwers so good to us,” returned 
Bess, in her sweet, plaintive* tone. 

“An’ when yous want a nickel or two, let me 
know,” he said with manly tenderness. 

Dil made her mother a cup of strong coffee, 
and brushed out her long black hair, still hand- 
some enough for a woman of fashion to envy. 
She had made a big Irish stew for dinner, and 
when the house was cleared up, she had leave to 


^0 IN WiLb-ROSE TIME 

take Bess out. But they did not go to the square 
to-day. They rambled up and down some of the 
nicer streets, where the houses were closed and 
the people away, and speculated about the jour- 
ney to heaven in the spring. Alas ! There were 
hundreds more who did not even know there was 
a heaven, or for what the church bells rang, or 
why Sunday came. 

The week was melting hot. One of the babies 
had a very sick day, and died that night. Several 
others in the court died, but the summer was al- 
ways hard on babies. Mrs. Quinn had a day off, 
and went up to Glen Island. Children and babies 
were taken away for a day or a week ; but Dil was 
too busy, and it would have been no pleasure for 
Bess to go without her. But some way they were 
overlooked. 

The heat kept up well in September. People 
came home from the country, and Mrs. Quinn’s 
business was brisk enough. The boys were sent 
to school; but Owen often played “hookey,” and 
was getting quite unmanageable, in fact, a neigh- 
borhood terror. 

It seemed strange indeed that Bess could live 
under such circumstances. But Dil’s love and 
care were marvellous. She kept the child ex- 
quisitely clean ; she even indulged in a bottle of 
refreshing cologne, and some luxuries, for which 


THE DELIGHTS OF WEALTH /I 

they blessed John Travis. Three times they had 
been over to the square. They counted up the 
weeks ; they believed with all possible faith at 
first, then Dil weakened unconsciously. She 
used to get so tired herself in these days. Her 
mother was very captious, and the babies fell 
off. Some days Dil put in two nickels out of 
her precious fund. Bess insisted upon it. 

Dilsey Quinn ran out of an errand now and 
then. She was too busy ever to loiter, and every 
moment away from Bess was torture. So, al- 
though they lived in a crowd, they might as well 
have been on a desert island, as far as compan- 
ionship went. 

And now they saw less of Patsey, to their sor- 
row. He had saved up a little money, and bor- 
rowed some from a good friend, and bought a 
chair, and set himself up in business. Not a 
mere common little ‘^kit,” mind you. But it 
was way down town, and he had new lodgings 
to be “handy.” 

The last of September the weather, that had 
been lovely, changed. There was a long, cold 
storm, and blustering winds that would have done 
credit to March. The “flannils,” that had been 
such a luxury, were too thin, and Dil spent almost 
her last penny for some others. No one had ever 
found out. 


72 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


How often they looked wistfully at each other, 
and asked a wordless question. But John Travis 
had not found them, had not come. Six weeks 
since that blissful Saturday ! 

It had been a very hard day for Dil ; and heaven 
seemed far off, as it does to many of us in times 
of trouble. The morning was lowering and chilly. 
Dil had overslept, and her mother’s morning cup 
of coffee was not to her taste. She had given her 
a box on the ear, I was about to say ; but her 
mother’s hand covered the whole side of her head, 
and filled it with a rush as of many waters, blind- 
ing her eyes so that all looked dark about her. 
Then Mrs. Kenny’s little Mamie cried for her 
mother, and would not be pacified. Mrs. Kenny 
was a young and deserted wife who worked in a 
coat-shop, and Mamie was a Saturday boarder as 
well. Dil made the boys’ breakfast with the baby 
in her arms, and managed to get Bess’s bread and 
milk, but had hardly a moment to devote to her. 
Only one more baby came in. 

Mrs. Quinn suddenly reappeared. Mrs. Watson 
had been called away by the illness of her mother, 
and the washing was to go over to the next 
week. 

“ An’ she’ll want two days’ work done in one, 
an’ no more pay. An’ they don’t mind about your 
lost day ! How’s a woman to live with a great 


.iM ■' " 


THE DELIGHTS OF WEALTH 

raft of young ones to support, I’d like to know ? 
An’ it’s hard times we hear about a’ ready. Good- 
ness knows what I’ll do. An’ you lazy trollop! 
you haven’t your dishes washed yet ! An’ only 
two babies ! Yer’ not worth yer salt I ” 

“ Mamie has cried all the time ” — 

“ Shet yer head ! Not a word of impidence out 
of you, or I’ll crack yer skull ! An’ I know — 
yer’ve been foolin’ over that wretched little brat 
in there I I’m a fool fer not sindin’ her up to th’ 
Island hospital. Fine work they’d have with 
her! She’d get nussed.” 

Dil uttered a cry of terror. 

Her mother caught her by the shoulder, and 
banged her head sharp against the wall, until no 
telescope was needed for her to see stars, even in 
the day time. They swirled around like balls of 
fire, and Dil staggered to a chair, looking so 
ghastly that her mother was startled. 

Both babies set up a howl. 

Drat the brats ! ” she cried, shaking her fist 
at them. “ If there can’t be more than two, you’ll 
march off to a shop, Dilsey Quinn ; an’ if you don’t 
earn your bread, you won’t get it, that’s all ! As 
fer you, ye little weasened-face, broken-backed 
thing, cumberin’ the ground ” — 

Bess seemed to shrink into nothing. Mrs. 
Quinn had taken her glass of gin too early in the 


H 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


day. What would have happened next — but a 
rap on the door averted it. 

“ O Mrs. Quinn ! ” cried Mrs. Malone, “ I saw 
ye cornin’ back, an’ have ye no work the day ? ” 

“ My folks went off. If I’d known last night ” 
— Mrs. Quinn picked up one baby to hush it. 

“ Well, now, Ann come in a moment ago to 
hunt up a la’ndress. The big folks where she 
lives have been lift in the lurch with ivry blissid 
thing sprinkled down. An’ can ye go an’ iron fer 
’em ? It’s a foine place. Two days in a week, 
an’ good pay. But the la’ndress has grown that 
sassy they had a reg’lar shindy this mornin’. If 
ye’ll jist go for wanst, they’ll all be moighty glad, 
for it’s a fine ironer ye are, Mrs. Quinn.” 

“I’ll go back wid Ann.” Mrs. Quinn dropped 
the baby, and resumed her hood and shawl. 

Bess shivered, and stretched out her arms to 
Dil as soon as the door closed. 

“ Oh, what should we have done if she had stayed 
at home ! She looked at me so dreadful. And 
she would have shaked the very life out of me if 
she had taken hold of me. O Dil, don’t let her 
send me away ! ” 

“If she should — if she did— I’d — I’d kill 
her ! ” and a fierce, desperate look came in the 
brown eyes. “O Bess dear, don’t cry so, don’t 
cry.” 


tHE DELIGHTS OF WEALTH 75 

O Dil,” sobbed the child, then you’d be 
jugged like daddy, but you wouldn’t kill her — you 
couldn’t, she’s so much bigger an’ stronger.” 

“ But I’d fight awful ! And I wouldn’t stay. 
I’d run away, if I Had to drown myself.” 

They cut people up in hospitals ” — and there 
was an awesome sound in the frightened voice. 

‘‘ Don’t, dear, don’t ; ” and the pleading was 
that of agony. She held Bess close — all her 
life was centred in this poor, maimed body. The 
babies might cry, the world might cease to be, 
but nothing should part them. 

“ She’ll be cross because there ain’t more ba- 
bies. And to-day she knows. But the bank’s 
most all out. O Dil, s’pose something happened 
to — to him ! ” 

They looked at each other in a pathetic fashion 
through their tears, each bearing the other’s sor- 
row, though they knew nothing of the divine 
injunction. Dil had fought silent battles with 
herself for faith in John Travis, but Bess had 
never wavered until now. 

‘‘It was so beautiful — -That afternoon, an’ the 
talkin’. I’ve thought so often ’bout his Lord 
Jesus, who could make my poor little legs well, 
an’, Dil, somehow they keep shrinken’ away. An’ 
the lovely fruit an’ things ! An’ all that money ! 
O Dil, we know now how rich folks feel, only 


tN WILD-ROSE TIME 


76 

they’re rich all their lives, and we was rich jest 
that little while. But it was splendid ! Rich 
folks oughter be happy every minnit, an’ — an’ 
good. ’Twould be so easy when you lived in a 
big, beautiful house, an’ had flowers an’ nice things 
to eat an’ to wear, an’ a kerrige to ride in ” — 

She stopped exhausted, but her eyes glowed 
with the vision, and a rapture illumined her wan 
face. Ah, Bess, one poor, forlorn creature, born 
in the brain of the finest genius of his time, made 
the same pathetic outcry in her pitiful plight, 
brought about by her own ill-doing. And you 
both touched the boundary of a broad truth. 

Dil gave a long, quivering breath, and it seemed 
as if her arms could never unclose again, so tight 
and fast did they hold their treasure. 

“I’m most sure he’ll come.” Bess made a 
strenuous effort to keep the doubt out of her 
tone. “He was ter bring the book, you know, 
and the picture ; an’ he didn’t look ’s though he' 
was one of the forgettin’ kind. There’s some- 
thin’ — I can’t quite make it out ; but Dil, when 
things is all still, most towards mornin’, seems if 
I could hear him talk. Only^ — it’s so long to 
spring. I’m most sorry we didn’t start that day. 
Why, we might have been to heaven before real 
cold weather. I’m so tired. Dil, dear, lay me 
down on the lounge, won’t you } It’ll rest me a 
bit.” 


THE DELIGHTS OF WEALTH 7/ 

She put her down softly, and tucked the faded 
quilt about her. Mamie had fallen asleep on the 
floor, and she laid her on her own little pallet. 
The other baby had found a dropped-out knot in 
the floor, and was trying to put his crust of bread 
down through it. 

Dil washed her dishes and tidied up the house. 
The clothes from the floor above swung on the 
pulley-line, and helped to shut out even the chilly 
gray light. Then there was dinner to get for the 
boys, who went to school quite steadily. Dan 
wasn’t so bad, though ; and Owen had been threat- 
ened with the reform-school, “where you had to 
sweep floors and sew on a machine like a gal ! ” 
That did not look so inviting as liberty. 

What would happen to-night when her mother 
came home ? Would she, could she, send Bess 
away ? 

“ ’Tain’t no use to pray,” she thought despair- 
ingly within her much-tried soul. “ I uster pray 
about Bess’s poor little legs, an’ they never 
mended any. An’ mebbe he thought we’d be a 
bother, an’ he’d rather go to heaven alone.” 

What had become of John Travis ? 


78 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


CHAPTER V 

A SONG IN THE NIGHT 

In the twenty-four years of John Travis’s life 
he had not done much but please himself. There 
was never any special pinch in the Travis house- 
hold, any choice of two things, with the other to 
be given up entirely. His father was an easy- 
going man, his mother an amiable society woman, 
proud, of course, of her good birth. As T said 
before, excesses were not to John’s taste. He 
didn’t look like a fastidious young fellow, but the 
Travises were clean, wholesome people. Perhaps 
this was where their good blood really showed 
itself. 

Mr. Travis had a little leaning toward the law 
for his son ; the young fellow fancied he had a lit- 
tle leaning toward medicine. He dallied some- 
what with both ; he wrote a few pretty society 
verses ; he etched very successfully, and he painted 
a few pictures, which roused an art ambition 
within him. He fell in love with a sweet girl in 
the winter, and in the late summer they had quar- 
relled and gone separate ways. 


A SONG IN THE NIGHT 79 

There had been another factor in his life, — his 
cousin, Austin Travis, some twelve years older 
than himself, his father’s eldest brother’s only 
child, and the eldest grandson. Travis farm had 
been his early home ; and there John, the little 
boy, had fallen in love with the big boy. 

Austin was one of the charming society men 
that women delight in. Every winter girls tried 
their best for him ; and John was made much of 
on his account, for they were almost inseparable. 
It was Austin who soothed his uncle’s disappoint- 
ment in the law business. It was Austin who 
compelled the rather dilatory young fellow to 
paint in earnest. 

Austin had planned a September tour. They 
would spend a few days with grandmother, and 
then go to the Adirondacks. He knew a camp- 
ing-out party of artists and designers that it would 
be an advantage for John to meet. 

John had packed his traps and sent them down 
to the boat, that was to go out at six. There was 
nothing special to do. He would walk down, 
and presently stop in at Brentano’s, then take the 
car. He was very fond of seeing people group 
themselves together and change like a kaleido- 
scope. But his heart was sore and indignant, 
and then his quick eye fell on the withered rose- 
buds in the shrunken hand of the child, and after 


8o 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


that adventure he had barely time to catch his 
boat. 

He hardly knew himself as he sat on the deck 
till past midnight. Two little poverty-stricken 
waifs had somehow changed his thoughts, his life. 
When he was a little boy at Travis Farm a great 
many curious ideas about heaven had floated 
through his brain. And when his grandmother 
sang in her soft, limpid voice, — 

“There is a land of pure delight. 

Where saints immortal reign; 

Infinite day excludes the night, 

And pleasures banish pain,” 

he used to see it all as a vision. Perhaps his 
ideas were not much wiser than those of poor lit- 
tle ignorant Bess. He had travelled with Pilgrim ; 
he had known all the people on the way, and they 
were real enough to him at that period. 

Oh, how long ago that seemed ! Everything 
had changed since then. Science had uprooted 
simple faith. One lived by sight now. The old 
myths were still beautiful, of course. But long 
before Christ came, the Greek philosophers had 
prayed, and the Indian religions had had their 
self-denying saviours. 

But he had promised to find the way to heaven 
for them, and they were so ignorant. He had 
promised to go thither himself, and he had dipped 


A SONG IN THE NIGHT 


8 


into so many philosophies ; he knew so much, 
and yet he was so ignorant. But there must be 
a heaven, that was one fact ; and there must be a 
way to go thither. 

Sunday morning he was in Albany with Austin 
and two young men he had known through the 
winter. One of them was very attentive to a 
pretty cousin who would be found at Travis Farm. 
They had a leisurely elegant breakfast, they took 
a carriage and drove about to points of interest, 
had a course dinner, smoked and talked in the 
evening. But the inner John was a little boy 
again, and had gone to church with his grand- 
mother. The sermon was long, and he did not 
understand it ; but he read the hymns he liked, 
and chewed a bit of fennel, and went almost 
asleep. The singing was delightful, the spirited 
old “ Coronation.” 

They went out to Travis Farm the next morn- 
ing. There was grandmother and Aunt Maria, 
the single Miss Travis, Daisy Brockholst and her 
dear friend Katharine Lee. Of course the young 
people had a good time. They always did at 
Travis Farm, and they were fond of coming. 

'‘Grandmother,” John said, in a hesitating sort 
of way, “you used to sing an old hymn I liked so 
much,” — 

“There is a land of pure delight.” 


82 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


‘‘Have you forgotten it? I wish you would sing 
it for me,” and his hand slipped over hers. 

“Why — yes, dear. I go singing about the 
house for company when no one is here ; but old 
voices are apt to get thin in places, you know.” 

He did not say he had hunted up an old hymn- 
book, and read the words over and over. He was 
ashamed that the children’s talk had taken such 
hold of him. But presently he joined in, keeping 
his really fine tenor voice down to a low key, and 
they sang together. 

Then there was the soft silence of a country 
afternoon — the hushed sweetness of innumerable 
voices that are always telling of God’s wonders. 

“John,” she said, in her low, caressing sort of 
tone that she had kept from girlhood, “ I think 
heaven won’t be quite perfect to me until I hear 
your voice among the multitude no man can num- 
ber.” 

That was all. She had let her life of seventy- 
four years do her preaching. But she still prayed 
for her sheaves. 

How had he come to have so much courage 
on Saturday afternoon, and so little now? Of 
course he could not be quite sure. And there 
would be Austin’s incredulous laugh. 

They went on to the Adirondacks. He made a 
sketch of Bess, and sent it to a photographer’s 


A SONG IN THE NIGHT 


83 


with instructions. He was delighted with the 
artist group. He was planning out his winter. 
He would take a studio with some one. He 
would see what he could do for the Quinn chil- 
dren, and paint his fine picture. She would see 
it when it was exhibited somewhere. There would 
be a curious satisfaction in it. And yet he was 
carrying around with him every day three faded, 
shrivelled wild-rose buds. 

And then one day they brought in Austin 
Travis insensible — dead, maybe. There was a lit- 
tle blood stain-on his face and his golden brown 
beard ; and it was an hour before they could restore 
him to consciousness. Just by a miracle he had 
been saved. A bit of rock that seemed so secure, 
had been secure for centuries perhaps, split off, 
taking him down with it. He had the presence 
of mind to throw away his gun, but the fall had 
knocked him insensible. He had lain some time 
before the others found him. There were bruises, 
a dislocated shoulder, and three broken ribs. Sur- 
gery could soon mend those. But there was a 
puncture in the magnificent lungs, such a little 
thing to change all one’s life ; and at first he 
rebelled with a giant’s strength. Life was so 
much to him, all to him. • He could not go down 
into nothingness with his days but half told. 

Out of all the plans and advice it was fettled 


84 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


to try the south of France, and perhaps the Ma- 
deira Isles, to take such good care and have such 
an equable climate that the wound might heal. 
And John was to be his companion and nurse 
and friend for all the lighter offices. Austin had 
hardly allowed him to go out of his sight. 

They had returned to New York. Everything 
was arranged. Austin was impatient to be off be- 
fore cold weather. For three days John never 
had a moment ; but Bess and Dil had not been 
out of his mind, and he could steal this afternoon ; 
so, with book and picture, he set out for Barker’s 
Court, not much clearer about the way to heaven 
than he had been six weeks before. 

Barker’s Court was not inviting to-day, with its 
piles of garbage, and wet clothes hanging about 
like so many miserable ghosts. 

“ Is it Misses Quinn ye want, or old Granny 
Quinn ? ” queried the woman he questioned. 
“Granny lives up to th’ end, an’ Misses Quinn’s 
is the third house, up-stairs.” 

It was semi-twilight. He picked his way up 
and knocked gently. 

So gently, Dil was sure of a customer for her 
mother. The babies were asleep. Bess was fixed 
in her wagon. Dil had some patches of bright 
colors that she was going to sew together, and 
make a new carriage rug. 


A SONG IN THE NIGHT 85 

She opened the door just a little way. He 
pushed it wider, and glanced in. 

“Oh, have you forgotten me.?” he exclaimed. 
“Did you think I would not come.?” 

Dil stood in a strange, sweet, guilty abasement. 
She had disbelieved him. Bess gave a soft, thrill- 
ing cry of delight, and stretched out her hands. 

“ I knew you would come,” and there was a 
tremulous exaltation in her weak voice. 

“ I’ve only been in town a few days. I have 
been staying with a cousin who met with a sad 
accident and is still ill. But I have run away for 
an hour or two ; .and I have brought Bess’s pic- 
ture.” 

He was taking a little survey of the room. The 
stove shone. The floor was clean. The white 
curtain made a light spot in the half gloom. The 
warmth felt grateful, coming out of the chilly air, 
though it was rather close. Dil did not look as 
well as on the summer day. Her eyes were heavy, 
with purple shadows underneath ; the “ bang ” of 
the morning had left some traces. And Bess was 
wasted to a still frailer wraith, if such a thing was 
possible. 

They both looked up eagerly, as he untied the 
package, and slipped out of an envelope a delicately 
tinted photograph. 

“ There, blue eyes, will it do for Dil .? ” 


86 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


The child gave a rapturous cry. Dil stood 
helpless from astonishment. 

“There ain’t no words good enough,” Dil said 
brokenly. “ Leastways, I don’t know any. O 
Bess, he’s made you look jes’ ’s if you was well. 
O mister, will she look that way in heaven } ” 
For Dil had a vague misgiving she could never 
look that way on earth. 

“ She will be more beautiful, because she will 
never be ill again.” 

“Dil’s right — there ain’t no words to praise 
it,” Bess said simply. “ If we was rich we’d give 
you hundreds and hundreds of dollars, wouldn’t 
we, Dil.?” 

Dil nodded. Her eyes were full of tears. 
Something she had never known before strug- 
gled within her, and almost rent her soul. 

“ And here is your book. You can read^ of 
course .? ” 

“ I can read some. Oh, how good you are to 
remember.” She was deeply conscience stricken. 

The tone moved him immeasurably. His eye- 
lids quivered. There were thousands of poor chil- 
dren in the world, some much worse off than 
^ these. He could not minister to all of them, but 
he did wish he could put these two in a different 
home. 

“ I must go away again with my cousin, and I 


A SONG IN THE NIGHT 


87 


am sorry. I meant to” — what could he do, he 
wondered — “ to see more of you this winter ; 
but a friend of mine will visit you, and bring you 
a little gift now and then. You must have spent 
all your money long ago,” flushing at the thought 
of the paltry sum. 

“ We stretched it a good deal,” said Dil 
quaintly. “You see, I bought Bess some clo’es, 
there didn’t seem much cornin’ in for her. An’ 
the fruit was so lovely. She’s been so meach- 
in’.” 

“Well, I am going to be — did you ever read 
Cinderella.^” he asked eagerly. 

“ I ain’t had much time for readin’, an’ Bess 
couldn’t go to school but such a little while.” 

“ And no one has told you the story } ” 

There was a curious eagerness in the sort of 
blank surprise. 

“ Well, this little Cinderella did kitchen work ; 
and sat in the chimney-corner when her work was 
done, while her sisters dressed themselves up fine 
and went to parties. One evening a curious old 
woman came, a fairy godmother, and touched her 
with a wand, a queer little stick she always car- 
ried, and turned her old rags into silks and satins, 
and made a chariot for her, and sent her to the 
ball at- the king’s palace.” 

“ Oh,” interposed Dil breathlessly, “ she didn’t 


88 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


have to come back to her rags, an’ chimney, an’ 
all, did she ? ” 

“ She did come back, because her fairy god- 
mother told her to. But the king’s son sent for 
her and married her.” 

“ Oh, if she’d only come to us, Dil ! ” Bess 
had a quicker and more vivid imagination. She 
had not been so hard worked, nor had her head 
banged so many times. “ We’d have the char — 
what did you call it ? an’ go to heaven. Then 
you wouldn’t have to wheel me, Dil, an’ we’d get 
along so much faster.” She laughed with a glad, 
happy softness, and her little face was alight 
with joy. “ Say, mister, you must think I’ve got 
heaven on the brain. But if you’d had hurted 
legs so long, you’d want to get to the Lord Jesus 
an’ have ’em made well. I keep thinkin’ over 
what you told us ’bout your Lord Jesus, an’ I 
know it’s true because you’ve come back.” 

Such a little thing ; such great faith ! And he 
had been comparing claims, discrepancies, and 
wondering, questioning, afraid to believe a delu- 
sion. Was he truly his Lord Jesus } The simple 
belief of, the children touched, melted him. It 
was like finding a rare and exquisite blossom in 
an arid desert. He wished he were not going 
away. He would like to care for little Bess until 
the time of her release came. Ah, would they 


A SONG IN THE NIGHT 89 

be disillusioned when they came to know what 
the real pilgrimage was ? 

“ There ain’t no fairies truly,” said Dil with 
pathetic gravity. “ There ain’t much of anything 
for poor people.’^ 

“ I can’t take you to a palace ; but when I come 
back I mean you shall have a nice, comfortable 
home in a prettier place ” — 

Mother wouldn’t let Dil go on ’count of the 
babies. There ain’t but two to-day, ’n’ she was 
awful mad ! ’N’ I wouldn’t go athout Dil. No 

one else ’d know how to take care of me.” 

“ We will have that all right. And while I am 
gone you must have some money to buy medi- 
cines and the little luxuries your mother cannot 
afford.” 

“ She don’t buy nothin’ ever. I ain’t no good, 
’cause I’ll never walk, ’n’ only Dil cares about 
me,” Bess said, as if she had so long accepted 
the fact the sting was blunted. 

Yes, I care; and I will send a friend here to 
see you, a young lady, and you need not be afraid 
to tell her of whatever you want. And Dil may 
like to know — that I am going to put her in a 
picture, and the money will be truly her own.” 

He was not sure how much pride or personal 
delicacy people of this class possessed. 

“O Dil!” Bess was electrified with joy. “Oh, 


90 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


I hope you made Dil look — just as she d look if 
we lived in one of them beautiful houses, n had 
a maid ’n’ pretty clo’es, ’n’ no babies to take care 
of. We never knowed any one like you afore. 
Patsey’s awful good to us, but he ain’t fine like 
an’ soft spoken. Are you very rich, mister.?” 

He laughed. 

‘‘ Only middling, but rich enough to make life 
a little pleasanter for you when I come back.” 

She seemed to be studying him. 

“You look as if you lived in some of the fine, 
big houses. I’d like to go in wan. An’ you 
know so much! You must have been to school a 
good deal. Oh, how soft your hands are!” 

She laughed delightedly as she enclosed one in 
both of hers, and then pressed it to her cheek. 

He stooped and kissed her. No one ever did 
that but Dil and Patsey. 

“You’ll surely come back in time to go to 
heaven, soon as it’s pleasant weather,” she said 
suddenly. “ An’ Dil couldn’t be leaved behind. 
Mother threatens to put her in a shop, an’ she 
does bang her head cruel. But I wouldn’t want 
to be in a pallis an’ have everything, if I couldn’t 
have Dil. An’ you’ll get it all fixed so’s we can 
go ? ” 

Ah, ah ! before that time Bess would have been 
folded in the everlasting arms. There was a lump 


A SONG IN THE NIGHT 


91 


in his throat, and he began to untie the string 
of the book to evade a more decisive answer. 

It was an illustrated edition, simplified for 
children’s reading. He turned some of the leaves 
and found one picture — Christiana ascending the 
palace steps amid a host of angels. 

From this squalid place and poverty, to that — 
how could he explain the steps between } When 
he came back Bess would be gone — 

“ Past night, past day,” 

and he would give Dil a new and better chance 
in spite of her mother. 

Dil drew a long, long breath. 

** Can we all get to the pallis ? ” she asked, 
with a soft awe in her tone. 

“Yes, there are many things to do — you will 
see what Christiana and Mercy did. And if you 
love the Lord Jesus and pray to him ” — 

Poor Dil was again conscience smitten. Only 
this morning she had said praying wasn’t any 
good. She glanced up through tears, — 

“ 'Pears as if I couldn’t ever get to understand. 
I wasn’t smart at school ” — 

“But you are smart,” interposed Bess. “An’ 
now we’ve got the book we’ll find just how 
Christiana went. There’s only six months left. 
You’ll surely be back by April ? ” 


92 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


'‘I shall be back.” His heart smote him. He 
was a coward after all. Ah, could he ever under- 
take any of the Master’s business ? 

“ Do you remember a hymn an old lady sang 
for you once ^ ” he said, glad of even this falter- 
ing way out. ‘‘I have been learning the words.” 

“’Bout everlasting spring.^” and Bess’s eyes 
were alight. “ Oh, do please sing it ! I’m in 
such an awful hurry for spring to come. Some- 
times my breath gets so short, as if I reely 
couldn’t wait.” 

Dil raised her eyes with a slow, beseeching 
movement. He pushed a chair beside the wagon, 
and held Bess’s small hands, that were full of 
leaping pulses. 

The sweet old hymn, almost forgotten amid the 
clash of modern music. Ah, there was some one 
who would love and care for Dil in her desola- 
tion — his grandmother. He would write to her. 
Then he began, and at the first note the children 
were enraptured : — 

“There is a land of pure delight, 

Where saints immortal reign; 

Infinite day excludes the night, 

And pleasures banish pain. 

Oh, the transporting, rapturous scene, 

That dawns upon my sight; 

Sweet fields arrayed in living green, 

And rivers of delight. 


A SONG IN THE NIGHT 


93 


There everlasting spring abides, 

And never-withering flowers; 

Death, like a narrow sea, divides 
This heavenly land from ours. 

No chilling winds nor poisonous breath 
Can reach that blessed shore; 

Sickness and sorrow, pain and death. 

Are felt and feared no more. 

- O’er all those wide extended plains. 

Shines one eternal day; 

There Christ the Son forever reigns. 

And scatters night away. 

Filled with delight, my raptured soul 
Can here no longer stay; 

Though Jordan’s waves around me roll. 

Fearless I launch away.” 

John Travis had a tender, sympathetic voice. 
Just now he was more moved by emotion than he 
would have imagined. Dil turned her face away 
and picked up the tears with her fingers. It was 
too beautiful to cry about, for crying was asso- 
ciated with sorrow or pain. A great inarticulate 
desire thrilled through her, a blind, passionate 
longing for a better, higher life, as if she be- 
longed somewhere else. And, like Bess, an impa- 
tience pervaded her to be gone at once. 

^‘Oh, please do sing it again !” besought Bess 
in a transport, her face spiritualized to a seraphic 
beauty. “ Did they sing like that in the Mission 
School, Dil?” 


94 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


Dil shook her head in speechless ecstasy. 

There was a knock, and then the door opened 
softly. It was Mrs. Murphy, with her sick baby 
in her arms. 

“Ah, dear,” she began deprecatingly, with an 
odd little old country courtesy, “ I heard the sing- 
ing, an’ I said to poor old Mis’ Bolan, ‘That’s 
never the Salvation Army, for they do make such 
a hullabaloo ; but it must be a Moody an’ Sankey 
man that I wunst haird, with the v’ice of an 
angel.’ An’ the pore craythur is a hankerin’ to 
get nearer. Will ye lit her come down, plaise, or 
will ye come up 

John Travis flushed suddenly. Dil glanced at 
her visitor aghast. Some finer instinct questioned 
whether he were offended. But he smiled. If it 
would give a poor old woman a pleasure — 

Dil was considering a critical point. She had 
learned to be wise in evading the fury of a half- 
drunken woman. There were many things she 
kept to herself. But Mrs. Murphy would talk 
him over. A Moody and Sankey man, — she had 
not a very clear idea ; but if Mrs. Murphy knew, 
it might be wisdom to have some one here who 
would speak a good word for her if it should be 
needed. 

“Ye can bring her down,” she answered, still 
looking at John Travis with rising color. 


A SONG IN THE NIGHT 


95 


She simply stepped into the hall ; but the old 
woman was half-way down-stairs, and needed no 
further summons. 

Ah, dear, it’s the v’ice of an angel shure. 
An’ though I’m not given to them kind of may- 
tins, on account of the praist, they do be beauti- 
ful an’ comfortin’ whiles they sing. Come in. 
It’s Dilly Quinn that’ll bid ye welcome. For it’s 
the Moody an’ Sankey man.” 

“Yer very good, Dilly Quinn, very good, to 
ask in a poor old woman ; though I’m main 
afeared of yer mother in a tantrum.” Her voice 
was shrill and shaky, though she was not seventy ; 
but poverty and hardships age people fast. A 
bowed and shrunken woman, with thin, white, 
straggling hair, watery, hungry-looking eyes, a 
wrinkled, ashen skin, her lips a leaden blue and 
sunken from lack of teeth. She had one of Mrs. 
Murphy’s rooms since the head of the house was 
safely bestowed within prison limits. Mrs. Bolan’s 
only son had been killed in the war, and she had 
her pension. Now and then some one gave her a 
little work out of pity. 

She dropped down on the lounge. “ When I 
heard that there hymn,” she went on quaveringly, 
“it took me back forty year an’ more. There 
was great revival meetin’s. My poor old mother 
used to sing it. But meetin’s don’t seem the same 


96 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


any more, or else we old folks kinder lost the 
eend er r ligion.” 

She was so pitiful, with her timorous, lonely 
look, and the hard struggles time had written on 
her everywhere. 

“Will you sing it for her? ” Dil asked timidly, 
glancing up at Travis. 

Some one else paused to listen and look in, and 
stared with strange interest at the fine young 
fellow, whose rich, deep voice found a way to 
their hearts. And as he sang, a realization of 
their pinched, joyless lives filled him with dismay. 
Mrs. Bolan rocked herself too and fro, her hands 
clutched tightly over her breast, as if she was 
hugging some comfort she could not afford to let 
go. The tears rolled silently down her furrowed 
cheeks. 

The foreign part of the audience was more 
outspoken. 

“ Ah, did yez iver listen to the loikes ! Shure, 
it would move the heart of a sthone. It’s enough 
to take yez right t’ro’ to heaven widout the laste 
taste o’ purgatory. Shure, Mrs. Kelly, it’s like a 
pack o’ troubles failin’ off, an’ ye step out light 
an’ strong to yer work agen. There’ll be a 
blissin’ for ye, young man, for the pleasure ye’ve 
given.” 

Mrs. Bolan shuffled forward and caught his 


A SONG IN THE NIGHT 97 

hand in hers, which seemed almost to rattle, they 
were so bony. 

“ God bless you, sir.” Her voice was so broken 
it sounded like sobs. An’ there’s something 
’bout makin’ his face shine on you — I disremem- 
ber, it’s so long since I’ve read my Bible, more 
shame to me ; but my eyes are so old and bad, I 
hope the Lord won’t lay it up agen me. I’m a 
poor old body, pushed outen the ranks. And you 
get kicked aside. Ye see, ’tain’t every voice that 
takes one to heaven. Lord help us ’bout gettin’ in. 
But mebbe he’ll be merciful to all who go astray. 
An’ — if ye wouldn’t mind sayin’ a bit of prayer, 
’pears like ’twould comfort me to my dyin’ day.” 

Her hungry eyes pleaded through their tears. 

A bit of prayer ! He had been praying a little 
for himself of late, but it came awkward after his 
years of intellectual complacency. A youngish 
woman was glancing at him in frightened despera- 
tion, as if she waited for something to turn her 
very life. There was but one thing he could 
think of in this stress — the divine mandate. 
Could anything be more complete } When ye 
pray, say, — 

“ Our Father which art in heaven ” — 


98 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


VI 

A WONDERFUL STORY 

John Travis stood with upraised hand. 
Clearly, slowly, the words fell, and you could 
hear only the labored respiration of the women. 
There was a benediction — he could not recall 
it, but a verse of Scripture came into his mind. 

Peace I leave with you^ my peace I give tinto 
you : not as the world giveth give I unto you. Let 
not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.'' 

“ The Lord will bless you,” said the trembling 
old woman. 

He squeezed something into her hand as she 
turned to go. Mrs. Murphy’s sickly baby began 
to cry, and one of Dil’s woke up. The little 
crowd dispersed. 

It began to grow dusky. Night came on early 
in Barker’s Court. Days were shorter, and sun- 
less at that. 

Travis stepped back to Bess. 

I shall ask my friend to tell me all about you 
— she will write it. And I shall come back.” He 


A WONDERFUL STORY 


99 


stooped and kissed Bess on the brow, for the last 
time. Heaven help her on her lonely journey. 
But the Saviour who blessed little children would 
be tender of her surely. 

“We’ll all go — won’t we — to heaven.'* The 
singin’ was so beautiful. An’ the everlastin’ 
spring.” 

“ Good-by.” ' He clasped Dil’s hand. “ Re- 
member, wherever you are, I shall find you. Oh, 
do not be afraid, God will care for you.” 

“ I don’t seem to understand ’bout God,” and 
there was a great, strange awe in Dil’s eyes. 
“ But you’ve been lovely. I can understand 
that.” 

One more glance at Bess, whose face was lighted 
with an exalted glow, as if she were poised, just 
ready for flight. Oh, what could comfort Dil when 
she was gone ? And /le had so much ! He was 
so rich in home and love. 

A woman stood in the lower hallway, the half- 
despairing face he had noted. She clutched his 
arm. 

“See here,” she cried. “You said, ‘deliver us 
from evil.’ Is anybody — is God strong enough 
to do it } From horrible evil — when there seems 
no other way open — when you must see some 
one you love — die starvin’ — an’ no work to be 
had — O my God ! ” 


100 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


The cry pierced him. Yes, there was a benefi- 
cent power in money. He gave thanks for it, as 
he crushed it in her hand. How did the poor 
souls live, herded in this narrow court ? His 
father’s stable was a palace to it in cleanliness. 

He had reasoned about poverty being one of 
the judicious forces of the world. He had studied 
its picturesque aspects, its freedom from care and 
responsibility, its comfortable disregard of con- 
ventionals, its happy indifference to custom and 
opinion. Did these people look joyous and con- 
tent ? Why, their faces even now haunted him 
with the weight of hopeless sorrow. Oh, what 
could he do to ease the burthen of the world.? 

Dil picked up the baby after she had lighted 
the lamp. She was' still in a maze, as if some 
vision had come and gone. Was he really here .? 
Or had she been in a blissful dream .? 

‘‘Come an’ spell out what he’s written — an’ — 
an’ his name, Dil ! ” 

Bess was studying the fly-leaf. Yes, fhere it 
was, “John Travis.” 

“I wisht it wasn’t John,” said Bess, a little 
disappointed. “He ought to have a fine, grand 
name, he’s so splendid. Rich people have nice 
ways, that poor people can’t seem to get.” 

“ No, they can’t get ’em, they can’t,” Dil re- 
peated, with a despairing sense of the gulf be- 


A WONDERFUL STORV tOt 

tween. She had never thought much about rich 
people before. 

“You’d better hide the book, an’ the money, 
'fore Owny comes in,” said Bess fearfully. “ I 
don’t even dast to look at the pictures. But we’ll 
have it a good many days when mammy’s out, an’ 
I must learn to read the hard words. O Dil ! if I 
had two good legs, I would jump for joy.” 

Dil wanted to sit down and cry from some un- 
known excess of feeling — she never had time to 
cry from pure joy. But she heeded Bess’s ad- 
monition, and hid their precious gifts. Then she 
stirred the fire and put on the potatoes. It was 
beginning to rain, and the boys came in noisily. 
The babies went home, and they had supper. 

It was quite late when Mrs. Quinn returned 
home, and she threw a bundle on the lounge. 
The boys being in, and Bess out of the way, she 
had nothing to scold about. She had had her 
day’s work praised, and a good supper in the bar- 
gain. Then cook had given her a “ drap of the 
craythur ” to keep out the cold. And she could 
have two days’ work every week “ stiddy,” so she 
resolved to throw over some poorer customer. 

But when Mrs. Murphy came down with a few 
potatoes in her hand that she had borrowed, and 
full of her wonderful news, Dil’s heart sank within 
her like lead. 


162 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 

“An’ what do ye think ? ” the visitor began in- 
cautiously. “ Poor old Mrs. Bolan is half wild with 
all the singin’ an’ the beautiful prisint he gev 
her.” 

“ What prisint ? ” asked Mrs. Quinn peremp- 
torily. 

“Why, it was a five-dollar bill. I thought first 
she’d faint clear away wid joy.” 

“ What man ? ” eying them both suspiciously. 

Dil’s lips moved, but her throat was so dry 
she could not utter a sound. 

“Wan of them Moody an’ Sankey men that 
do be singin’ around, an’ prayin’. An’ ye niver 
heard sich an’ iligant v’ice even at the free and 
easies ! Why, Mrs. Quinn, it’s my belafe, in spite 
of the praist, he cud draw a soul out o’ purgatory 
just wid his singin’. Mrs. Bolan’s that ’raptured 
she does nothin’ but quaver about wid her shaky 
old v’ice. Ah, dear — ave ye cud hev heard 
him ! ” 

“ To the divil wid him ! Cornin’ round to git 
money out’v poor folks. I knows ’'em. Dil, did 
you give him a cint ^ ” 

“ I didn’t have any; but he didn’t ast for none,” 
and the poor child had hard work to steady her 
voice. 

“ An’ ye’r mistaken, Mrs. Quinn, if ye think 
the likes of sich a gentleman would be beggin’ of 


A WONDERFUL STORY 


103 


the poor, returned Mrs. Murphy indignantly. 
** An’ he a-gevin a poor ould craythur five dollars ! 
An’ they do be goin’ around a-missionin’ with 
their prayers and hymns.” 

“ I know ’em. An’ the praists an’ the sisters 
beggin’ the last cint, an’ promisin’ to pray ye 
outen purgatory ! Mrs. Murphy,” with withering 
contempt, “them men cuddent pray ye outen a 
sewer ditch if ye fell in ! An’ I won’t have them 
cornin’ here — ye hear that, Dilsey Quinn! If I 
catch a Moody an’ Sankey man here. I’ll break 
ivery bone in his body, an’ yours too ; ye hear 
that now ! ” 

Mrs. Quinn was evidently “ spilin’ for a fight.” 
Mrs. Murphy went off in high dudgeon without 
another word. 

But she stopped to pour out her grievance to 
Mrs. Garrick on her floor. 

“ Shure, I pity them childers, for their mother 
do be the worst haythen an’ infidel, not belayvin’ 
a word about her own sowl, an’ spindin’ her money 
for gin as she do. She was a foine-lukin’ woman, 
an’ now her eyes is all swelled up, an’ her nose the 
color of an ould toper. * An’ that poor little Bess 
dyin’ afore her very eyes widout a bit of a mass, 
or even christenin’ I belayve. I’m not that big- 
oted, Mrs. Garrick, though the praists do say 
there bees but the wan way. I’m willin’ that 


104 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


people shall try their own ways, so long as they 
save their sowls ; but pore, helpless bits of childer 
that can’t know ! An’ what are their mothers 
put in the wurruld for but to tache them ? But 
when ye don’t belayve ye have a sowl of yer own 
it’s awful! There’s them b’ys runnin’ wild — an’ 
a moighty good thing it’ll be whin they’re in the 
’form-school, kapin’ out o’ jail, an’ wuss I ” 

Dil sat in awful fear when the door had closed 
behind their neighbor. She took up Owen’s 
trousers — the rent was sufficient to send any 
boy early to bed. 

That recalled her mother. She threw the bun- 
dle towards Dil. 

“There’s some clo’es ye kin be fixin’ up for 
Dan, whin ye’ve so much time as to be spindin’ 
it on Moody and Sankey men, drat ’em I foolin’ 
’round an’ wastin’ valyble time. Next I’ll hear 
that ye’ve ast in the organ man an’ the monkey, 
and I’ll come home to find ye givin’ a pairty. An’ 
ye’ll hev yer head broke for it, that ye will I ” 

So long as it was not broken now, Dil gave 
secret thanks. Did God help any ? Then, why 
didn’t he help other times when things were very 
bad ? She examined the suit, and found it a nice 
one, rather large for Dan, who was not growing 
like a weed, although he ran the streets. 

Her mother began to snore. She would be 


A woi^derfuL story 


i05 


good for some hours’ sound sleep. So Dil stole 
into the little room, and began to prepare Bess for 
bed, though she trembled with a half fear. 

“ O Dil, I didn’t hardly dast to breathe ! An’ 
if she’d known he come in here an’ sung, she’d 
murdered us ! An’ it made me feel glad like that 
he was goin’ away, for mammy might happen to 
be home when he come — though don’t you b’lieve 
he’d take us away right then } An’ — an’ wasn’t 
it lucky you didn’t have to tell about the ” — 

Bess held the bill up in her hand. 

“ Le’s put it in the book, an’ hide the book in 
the bottom of the wagon. An’, Dil, I .can’t help 
feeling light like, as if I was goin’ to float. Think 
of that splendid place, an’ no night, an’ no winter, 
an’ all beautiful things. Oh, I wisht he’d^gev us 
the words too; I’m most sure I could sing ’em. 
An’ the best of all is that mammy won’t be there, 
cause, you see, ’twouldn’t please her any, and I’d 
be awful feared. She’d ruther stay here an’ drink 
gin.” 

They had not gone far enough in the Christian 
life, poor ignorant little souls, to have much mis- 
sionary spirit. But they kissed, and kissed softly, 
in the half-dark, and cried a little — tender tears 
touched with a sadness that was as sweet as joy. 

Dil stepped about cautiously, emptied the grate, 
and did up her night-work. There seemed a cer- 


Io6 IN WILD-ROSE TIME 

tainty about heaven that she had not experienced 
before, a confidence in John Travis that gave her 
a stubborn faith. He would surely return in the 
spring. They would go out some day and never, 
never come back to Barker’s Court. 

She fell asleep in her visionary journey when 
she was up beyond Central Park. She was al- 
ways so tired, and this night quite exhausted. 
But Bess kept floating on a sea of delicious 
sound ; and if ever one had visions of the prom- 
ised land, it was Bessy Quinn. 

There were seven babies in the next morning, 
it being a sharp, clear day. Mrs. Quinn had gone 
off about her business with no row. When Bess 
had been dressed and had her breakfast, they 
drew out the precious book. 

I’ll jes’ cover it with a bit of old calico an’ no 
one will mistrust, for you can jes’ slip it down in 
the carriage. An’ we’ll get out that old speller of 
Owny’s, so mother can see that around if we do 
be taken by s’prise.” 

They looked at the pictures as the babies would 
allow them the leisure, and spelled out the expla- 
nation underneath. It was so wonderful, though 
at times they were appalled by the difficulties and 
dangers. And it was almost night when they 
reached the crowning-point of all, — Christiana 
going across the river. 


A Wonderful story 


107 

A/I the banks beyond the river were full of 
horses and chariots which were come down from 
above to acco^npany her to the City Gate.” Her 
friends were thronging round. She was entering 
the river with a fearless step and uplifted face. 

“Why, Dil, she jes’ walked right acrost.” Bess 
gave a joyous little laugh. “You see, she couldn’t 
get drownded, because that Lord Jesus had made 
it all right an’ safe, jes’ as he carried people in his 
arms. I’m so glad we know. You see, when we 
get to the river, an’ it will be way, way above 
Cent’l Park, when we’ve been through these 
giants an’ all — an’ I’m 'most afraid of thim ; but 
the man did not let ’em hurt her, an’ he, our man, 
won’t let ’em hurt us. An’ we’ll jest step right 
in the river, — maybe hell carry me acrost on 
account of my poor little legs, — an’ we sha’n’t be 
a mite afraid, for he won’t let us drown. O Dil, 
it’ll be so lovely ! An’ here’s the pallis ! ” 

There was the “throng that no man can num- 
ber,” welcoming Christiana. Angels with spread- 
ing wings and rapturous faces. Her husband 
coming to meet her, and the Lord Jesus minis- 
tering an abundant welcome. 

What a day it was! Never was day so short, 
so utterly delightful. Some of the babies were 
cross : out of seven little poorly born and poorly 
nourished babies, there were wants and woes ; but 


IN WILt)-ROSE tiME 


loS 

Dil hugged them, cuddled them, crooned to them, 
with a radiant bliss she had never known before. 
She could look so surely at the end. 

An old debt of half a dollar came in, and there 
were thirty-five cents for the babies. Dan had on 
his new suit too, and altogether Mrs. Quinn was 
remarkably good-natured. Dil felt almost con- 
science-smitten about the book — but then the 
story would have to come out, and alas ! 

After that they began to read the wonderful 
story. Dil was not much of a scholar. Her 
school-days had been few and far between, never 
continuous enough to give her any real interest. 
Indeed, she had not been bright at her books, and 
her mother had not cared. School was something 
to fill up the time until children were old enough 
to go to work. But Dil surely had enough to fill 
up her time. 

Bess would have far outstripped her in learning. 
But Dil had a shrewd head, and was handy with 
her needle. She possessed what Yankee people 
call “ faculty ; ” and her training had given her a 
sharp lookout for any short cuts in what she 
had to do, as well as a certain tact in evading or 
bridging over rough places. 

But the reading was very hard labor. They 
did not know the meaning or the application of 
words, and their pronouncing ability was indeed 
halting. 


A WONDERFUL STORY * IO9 

They had not even attained to the practical 
knowledge acquired by mingling with other chil- 
dren. Dil’s life had been pathetic in its solitari- 
ness, like the loneliness of a strange crowd. Other 
children had not taken to her.” Her days had 
been all work. She would have felt awkward and 
out of place playing with anything but a baby. 

Bess found the most similitudes in Christiana. 
Even John Travis would have been amused by her 
literal interpretation. Though it had been simpli- 
fied for children’s reading, it was far above their 
limited capacity. But the pictures helped so 
much ; and when Dil could not get “ the straight 
of it,” when the spiritual part tried arid confused 
their brains, they turned to Christiana crossing 
the river and entering heaven. 

Valiant Mr. Greatheart appealed strongly to 
Bess. 

“ He’s got such a strong, beautiful name,” she 
declared enthusiastically. “ He always comes 
when there’s troubles, an’ gettin’ lost, an’ all that. 
I ’most wish his name was Mr. Greatheart. He 
could fight, *I know; not this common, hateful 
fightin’ down here in the court, but with giants 
an’ wild beasts. An’ there were the boys, Dil ; 
but I s’pose Owny wouldn’t care ’bout goin’.” 

“Well,” Dil hesitated curiously, “you’ve got 
to try to be good some way, an’ Owny wouldn’t 


I lO 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


quit swearin’ an’ snivyin’ when he got a chance. 
An’ I don’t think he’d understand. Then he 
might tell mammy ’bout our plans.” 

“An’ mammy jes’ wouldn’t let you stir a step, 
I know. An’ I couldn’t go athout you, Dil, though 
there’ll be many people on the road. I was most 
feared it would be lonesome like.” 

“ An’ I’ll be gettin’ a few clo’es ready, the best 
of thim. I’ll wash an’ iron your new white dress 
when we don’t go out no more, an’ put it away 
kerful. An’ I hope some one will give mother 
some clo’es for a big girl ! I’ll be so glad to go, 
for sometimes I’m so tired I jes’ want to drop.” 

“ But October’s ’most gone. An’ last winter 
don’t seem long to me now, an’ the summer that 
was so hot, — but it had that beautiful Sat’day 
when we found him. An’ to think of havin’ him 
forever ’n’ ever ! ” 

Dil gave a long sigh. She was as impatient as 
Bess, but she hardly dared set her heart upon the 
hope. 

She was a very busy little woman, and her mind 
had to be on her work. The garments given to the 
boys had, of course, the best taken out of them, 
and Owen was hard on his clothes. As for the 
stockings, their darning was a work of labor, if 
not of love. Bess had to be kept warm and com- 
fortable, and Dil tried to make her pretty as well. 


A WONDERFUL STORY 


III 


There were some rainy Saturdays, and the one 
baby often came in that day. But she tried to 
give Bess an airing on Sunday. It was such a 
change for the poor little invalid. 

Mrs. Quinn was better pleased to be busy all 
the time. Besides the money, which was really 
needed now that fires were more expensive, she 
liked the change, the gossiping and often it was 
a pleasure to find fault with her customers. She 
still went to Mrs. MacBride’s of an evening. 

With the advent of November came a week of 
glorious Indian summer weather. And one Sat- 
urday Mrs. Quinn was to do some’ cleaning at a 
fine house, and stay to help with a grand dinner. 
Dil rushed through with her work, and they went 
up to the Square that afternoon, and sat in the 
old place. The sparrows came and chirped cheer- 
fully ; but the flowers were gone, the trees leafless. 
Yet it was delightful to picture it all again. 

John Travis would have felt sorry for Dil to-day 
— perhaps if he had seen her for the first time he 
would not have been so instantly attracted. Her 
eyes were heavy, her skin dark and sodden. Even 
Bess grew weary with the long ride. But they 
shopped a little again ; and Dil was extravagant 
enough to buy some long, soft woollen stockings 
for Bess’s “poor, hurted legs.” 

“ I’m so tired,” she said afterward. “ ’Tain’t 


II2 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


quite like summer, is it? Make up a good fire, 
Dil, an’ get me snappin’ warm.” 

She did not want much to eat. Even the grapes 
had lost their flavor. 

‘‘I wish you could sing that beautiful hymn,” 
she said to Dil. “ I’d just like to hear it, ’cause 
it keeps floatin’ round all the time, an’ don’t get 
quite near enough. O Dil ! don’t you s’pose you 
can sing in heaven ? ” 

“ Seems to me I heard at the Mission School 
that everybody would. If the Lord Jesus can 
mend your legs. I’m sure he can put some music 
in my throat.”- 

“ We’ll ask him right away. Then read to me 
a little.” 

Bess fell asleep presently. Dil made slow work 
spelling out the words and not knowing half the 
meanings. Her seasons at the Mission School 
had always been brief, from various causes. Now 
and then some visitor came in, but the talk was 
often in phrases that Dil did not understand. 
She had not a quick comprehension, neither was 
she an imaginative child. 

Looking now at Bess’s pinched and pallid face 
a strange fear entered her mind. Would Bess be 
strong enough in the spring to take the long jour- 
ney ? For it was so much longer than she ima- 
gined, and Bess couldn’t be made well until they 


A WONDERFUL STORY 


II3 

reached the Lord Jesus. There was a vague mis- 
giving tugging at her heart. They ought to have 
gone that lovely Saturday. 

They talked so much about John Travis that 
they almost forgot what he had said about his 
friend. They were husbanding their small re- 
sources for the time of need. There had been 
so many babies that Dil had not needed to make 
up deficiencies. Sometimes they felt quite afraid 
of their hiding-place, and Dil made a little bag 
and put it around Bess’s neck, so no one would 
come upon the money unaware. 

The touch of Indian summer was followed by a 
storm and cool, brisk winds. It was too cold to 
take Bess out, even if she had cared ; but she had 
been rather drooping all the week. There was a 
baby in, also, and Bess kept in her own room, as 
she often did Saturday morning, to be out of the 
way of her mother’s sharp frowns. 

Dil had gone of an errand. Mrs. Quinn sat 
furbishing up an ulster she had bought at a sec- 
ond-hand store at a great bargain. The baby was 
asleep on the lounge. When Dil returned, a 
dreadful something met her on the threshold that 
made her very heart stand still. 

‘‘I have come from a Mr. Travis, to see the 
children. He has gone abroad, and he asked me 
to look after them/’ 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


1 14 

This was what had gone before — very little, 
indeed. Mrs. Quinn had answered, “Come in,” to 
a tap at the door ; and there had entered a rather 
pretty, well-dressed, well-bred young woman, who 
considered herself quite an important member of 
the charitable world. She saw a clean-looking 
room with more comforts than usual, and she 
gave a sharp glance around the corners. 

Mrs. Quinn received her very civilly, consider- 
ing her a possible customer. 

“ You have a little girl who is an invalid, I be- 
lieve I ” she queried. 

“ That I have,” was the brief reply. 

The stranger glanced at the two open doors, 
and wondered ; was the child in bed } 

The next sentence was what Dil had caught. 
Miss Nevins checked herself suddenly. Mr. Travis 
had said, “ See the children alone if you can. 
Their mother is out to work most of the time, and 
it will be an easy matter. But do not give any 
money to the woman for them ; they will not 
get it.” 

“Well — what.^” asked Mrs. Quinn sharply, 
with an aspect that rather nonplussed the lady. 
“Whin did he see so much of thim, an’ come to 
think they needed his attintion ? ” 

“ Why — when he was here ” — 

“ Was he here now ? an’ what called him ? ” 


A WONDERFUL STORY 


II5 

Mrs. Quinn gave her visitor an insolent stare 
that rendered her very uncomfortable. 

“I — I really do not know when. Kindly dis- 
posed people do visit the sick and the needy. I 
go to a great many places ” — 

“ Av ye plaise,” she interrupted, “ we’re not 
paupers. I’m well enough, ye see, to be takin’ 
care of me own childers. An’ he nor no one else 
nade throubble theirselves. I’m not askin’ char- 
ity ; an’ av they did it unbeknownst to me, I’ll 
hammer thim well, that I will ! They’re as well 
off as common folk, an’ ye needn’t be worritin’. 
Av that’s all ye come fer, ye kin be goin’ about 
yer own bisniss, bedad ! An’ ye kin tell Mr. 
What’s-his-name that I’m not sufferin’ fer help.” 

This was not the fashion in which Miss Nevins 
was generally received, You do not under- 
stand ” — with rising color. “We desire to be 
of whatever service we can ; and if your child is 
ill, you cannot have a better friend ” — 

“ Frind ! is it Bedad, I kin choose me own 
frinds ! An’ if he knows whin he’s well off, he’ll 
not show his foine forrum here, er his mug’ll get 
a party mash on it. Frind, indade ! ” 

The irate woman looked formidable as she rose, 
but Miss Nevins did not mean to be daunted. 

“ You may see the time when you will be glad 
of a friend, though you need not worry about his 


Il6 IN WILD-ROSE TIME 

coming. I shall tell him you are not worth his 
interest. As for the child ” — and her indigna- 
tion sparkled in her eyes. 

The child wants none of his help, ye kin tell 
him. I kin look afther her mesilf.” 

Good-day,” and the visitor opened the door. 
Dil stepped back in the obscurity. The lady 
held up her fine cloth- gown, and gave her nose 
a haughty wrinkle or two as she inhaled the sti- 
fling air once, and then did not breathe until she 
was in the court. 

“ Such a horrid hole ! ” she commented. “ The 
child ought to be moved to a hospital — or per- 
haps she is well by this time. John is so easily 
taken in his swans so often turn out to be 
geese. As if / would have given her any money, 
the impudent, blowsy thing ! I know pretty well 
how far to trust that class ! Though it’s rather 
funny,” and she smiled in the midst of her dis- 
gust; '‘they are always whining and pleading pov- 
erty, and will be abject enough for a quarter. 
And she was very high and mighty! I’ll write a 
good long letter to John about it, but I won’t 
trouble her ladyship again.” 

Dil stood shaking with terror, and some mo- 
ments elapsed before she had courage enough to 
open the- door. She was in a degree prepared for 
a line of defence, 


A WONDERFUL STORY 11/ 

Her mother seized her by the arm, and fairly 
shouted at her, — 

*‘Who was the man who kim to see ye, ye 
young huzzy ? ” 

“Man! When did a man come? I don’t re- 
member,” assuming surprise. 

“ I’ll help yer mem’ry thin wid that;” and Dil’s 
ears rang with the sound of the blow. 

“ There wasn’t any man since the wan that sang 
a long whiles ago. Mrs. Murphy knew. She said 
he was a Moody an’ Sankey man, an’ that they do 
be goin’ round singin’ and prayin’. An’ they all 
stood in the hall, the women 'about. Mrs. Mur- 
phy kin tell you.” 

Mrs. Quinn was rather nonplussed. 

“ What did he gev ye ? ” 

“Nothin’,” sobbed Dil. “It was poor old Mrs. 
Bolan that had the money.” 

“ Not a cint ? ” She took Dil by the shoulder. 
“ Dil Quinn, I don’ no whether to belave yer; but 
if he’d gev ye any money, an’ ye’d bin such a 
deceivin’ little thafe. I’d break ivery bone in yer 
mean little body. Howld yer tongue ! I ain't 
done nothin’ but ast a civil question.” 

Dil tried to stop sobbing. Her mother was in 
a hurry to get out, or matters might have been 
worse. 

“ Stop yer snivelin’,” commanded her mother. 


Il8 IN WILD-ROSE TIME 

“ But if I hear of any more men singin’ round, I’ll 
make ye wish yer never been born.” 

The baby cried at this juncture, and Dil took it 
up. Mrs. Quinn went out, and there would be 
peace until midnight. 

Bess sat in the carriage, wild-eyed and ghostly, 
trembling in every limb. 

“It was a norful lie!” sobbed Dil. “But if I’d 
told her, she’d killed me I He wouldn’t a done 
such a thing ; but nobody’d darst to tackle him, 
an’ rich people don’t beat an’ bang.” 

“ You didn’t tell no lie,” said Bess in a sudden 
strong voice. He never gev you no money. 
’Twarn’t your money ’t all. Doncher know he 
put it in the bag the first time when you was 
feared to take it, an' he jes’ dropped it down here 
in the side of the kerrige. He never gev you a 
penny. An’ it was my money.” 

“O Bess! Ye’r such a bright, smart little 
thing ! If you’d been well we’d just kept ahead 
of mother all the time;” and now the sunshine 
slanted over the brown quartz eyes that were 
swimming in tears. “ I d’n’ know, but I should 
have hated norful to tell a lie ’bout him. He 
seems — well, I can’t somehow git the right 
words ; but’s if you wanted to be all on the 
square when he liked you. I don’t b’leve he’d 
so much mind yer snivyin’ out a nickel when 


A WONDERFUL STORY 


1 19 

there was a good many babies, an’ puttin’ it back 
when there wasn’t, to save gettin’ yer head 
busted. But he wouldn’t tell no lie. He kem 
when he said he would an’ brought Christiana, 
an’ he’ll come in the spring, sure.” 

“Yes, sure,” said Bess, with a faint smile. 
“ But you better ast Mrs. Murphy to keep the 
book a few days, for mammy might go snoopin’ 
about ” — 

“ I just will ; but I don’t b’leve she’d dast to 
hustle you round and find the money. An’ now 
a week’s gone, an’ there’s only three left, en 
then it’ll be anuther month, an’ O Bess, spring! 
spring ! ” 

There was an exultant gladness in Dil’s voice. 


120 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


VII. 

MARTYRED CHRISTIANA. 

Dil was always so tired, she went to sleep at 
once from exhaustion. But to-night every nerve 
seemed in a quiver. They had found some medi- 
cine that soothed Bess and kept her from cough- 
ing, so she slept better than in the summer. Dil 
tossed and tumbled. There had been given her 
a magnificent endowment of physical strength, 
and the dull apathy of poverty had kept her from 
a prodigal waste of nerve force. She was what 
people often called stolid, but she had never been 
roused. How many poor souls live and die with 
most of their energies dormant. 

There had never been but one dream to Dil’s 
life, and that was Bess. Here her imagination 
had some play. When they took their outings 
through the more respectable streets for the 
cleanliness and quiet, or paused awhile in the 
green and flowery squares, she sometimes “ made 
believe” that Bess was the lovely child in the 
elegant carriage, with wraps of eider down and 


MARTYRED CHRISTIANA 


I2I 


lace, and she the nurse-maid in white apron and 
cap who trundled her along jauntily. Or else it 
was Bess, blue-eyed and golden-haired, sitting in 
a real “grown-up” carriage with her pretty mamma 
in silks and satins. The little nurse-maid was at 
home, putting everything in order, and waiting for 
the lovely princess to come back and tell her all 
she had seen. That and heaven had been the 
extent of her romancing. 

But to-night a curious, separate life stirred 
within her. A consciousness of the great differ- 
ence between such people as John Travis, even 
the lady in the hall who had so disdainfully gath- 
ered up her skirts and scattered a faint fragrance 
about. Why was such a great difference made ? 
Why should she and Bess be Honor Quinn’s chil- 
dren ? Would another mother be given them in 
heaven ? 

The mothers in the court seemed to love their 
little babies, yet afterward they beat and banged 
them about. But the children in that clean, beau- 
tiful world where there was no pain, the children 
in heaven — ah ! ah ! She was not crying with 
human passion ; it was the deep anguish of the 
soul that cannot even find vent in tears, the 
throes of an awful inward pain, that seldom, thank 
God, comes to the young, that dense ignorance 
often keeps from the very poor. 


122 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


“ Took them in his arms.” That was what 
John Travis had said. She was so tired to-night 
— not the fatigue of hard work altogether, but a 
great aching that had no name. If she could be 
taken in some one’s arms ! Dilsey Quinn could 
not remember being held, though her mother had 
been proud of her first-born, and fond too, in 
those days. 

If Mrs. Quinn’s life had been a little more pros- 
perous, if she had lived in a cottage with a patch 
of ground, a cow and some chickens, and the 
wholesome surroundings of the little village where 
she had reigned a sort of rural queen, her chil- 
dren might have known love and tenderness. But 
the babies had come fast. Her man had taken to 
drink. They were crowded in among the poor 
and ignorant, where brawls and oaths, drinking 
and cruelty, were daily food. Ah, what wonder 
one lapses into barbarism! For the last half- 
dozen years she had slaved, and sometimes gone 
hungry. She could have strangled little Dan 
when he came, for adding to her burthens. How 
much of the peril of the soul depends upon the 
surroundings 1 

And now Dil longed for the strong arms to be 
about her. Do you wonder she had so little idea 
of a heavenly Father.? The teaching of the Mis- 
sion School had been measured by the hard, bare 


MARTYRED CHRISTIANA 


123 


materialism of poverty, quite as upas-like as the 
materialism of philosophy. It had a rather dainty 
aspect when John Travis dallied with it among 
his college compeers ; but it seems shocking 
when these hundreds of little children cannot 
even formulate the idea of a God. And though 
Dil stretched out her hands with an imploring 
moan, it was for some present and personal com- 
fort. 

Owny came creeping in softly, and just saved 
his skin, for to-night his mother returned earlier 
than usual. She was growing stout, and walked 
solidly. She seemed to be puttering about. Then 
she pushed Dil’s door wide open, and there was 
barely room for her. The lamp stood on the floor 
outside. Dil’s “ chest of drawers ” was covered 
with a curtain of various pieces, and she had or- 
namented the top with treasures found amid 
the cast-off Christmas and Easter cards that had 
fallen to her when more favored children had 
tired of them. A cigar-box was covered with 
some bits of silk, and held a few paltry “ treas- 
ures.” Some fancy beads, a tarnished bangle, a 
bit of ribbon, and so on, she found as she dumped 
them in her apron and then thrust them back. 
Next she dragged the articles out of the impro- 
vised “drawers,” and shook them one by one. 
Nothing contraband fell out. There was nothing 


124 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


to reward her search, and she glared at the child 
in the faded, shabby wagon. 

Dil hardly breathed. She remembered in that 
half-frozen, fascinated sort of way that horrible 
events will rise up, ghost-like, in times of terror 
— that one night last winter, a woman farther up 
the court had murdered her two little children, 
and then killed herself. She was cold with an 
awful apprehension of evil. Even though she 
kept her eyes closed, she could seem to see with 
that awesome, inward sight. 

Mrs. Quinn thrust her hand under Bess’s pillow, 
under her bed, and the poor child gave a broken, 
disturbed half-cry. Her efforts were fruitless; but 
before Dil could give a sound to her horrible fear, 
she had turned and was facing her. Then Dil 
sprang partly up, but the scream curdled in her 
throat. 

‘‘ Oh, ye naydent disturb yersilf this time o’ 
night. I was jist lookin’ in upon me two gals that 
the man was so distrissed about. Dil Quinn, av’ 
ye iver go to the bad like some gals. I’ll not lave 
a square inch of skin on yer body, ner a whole bone 
inside. I’ll have no men singin’ round whiles 
I’m not here. You shut the door on ’em, jist. 
You’re a humbly little runt, God knows, but thim 
kind is purty hard whin they once set out. Ye 
mind, now ! An’ that un ” — 


MARTYRED CHRISTIANA 


125 


She shook her fist, and backed out of the room, 
for she could hardly have turned around. Bess 
moaned, but she was not awake. Dil used all her 
strength to suppress a scream, while a cold perspi- 
ration oozed from every pore. 

When she dared, after the lamp was out, she 
rose and changed Bess to a more comfortable posi- 
tion. Ah, if the book had been there ! The child 
shuddered with vague apprehension. 

All the rest of the night she lay fearfully awake, 
and the next morning she looked ghastly. Even 
her mother was moved. 

‘‘ You don’t look well, Dil,” she said. What’s 
got yer ? ” 

‘‘My head aches.” Had she dreamed that hor- 
rible vision of the night ? 

“Take some queuann. Ye’ve no toime to be 
sick. Ye spind too much toime over the brat 
there. An’ it’ll be a mercy whin it’s all over. I 
cuddent stan’ it mesilf much longer.” 

Patsey came that afternoon. Business was good, 
and he had a few dimes in the bank. He and three 
other boys boarded with an old woman. 

“But I’ve been thinkin’, Dil, that if we had you 
instid o’ the old woman ! She can’t make an Irish 
stew worth shucks, an’ yers wud jist make a felly 
sing in his sleep. Whin I git some money ahead 
I’ll jist have youse come. Yer mammy’ll not mind 
if ye take Bess,” 


126 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


Dil smiled. It was lovely of Patsey, but they 
would be going to heaven then. She wondered 
why they didn’t care to take Patsey along when 
they were so fond of him. He wouldn’t want 
to go — how she knew that she could not tell, 
either. 

He brought Bess a splendid orange and some 
candy and an illustrated paper. The pictures 
were very entertaining. 

‘‘Bess is lookin’ slim,” he said. “She wants to 
go out in the fresh air.” 

“But it’s so cold, an’ it just goes over me an’ 
all through, as if I hadn’t half enough clo’es on. 
No, I must stay in an’ keep good an’ warm, an’ 
get well by spring.” 

“ That’s the talk,'’ and Patsey smiled. 

When he was gone and they were all alone, they 
looked at each other curiously. 

“’Twould be nice to go an’ live with Patsey if 
we wasn’t goin’ to heaven,” Bess said. “ I do be 
so afeard of mammy sometimes.” 

“ An’ she rummiged last night, Bess, on the 
shelves an’ in your bed ; an’ if it hadn’t been for 
yer wit she’d a found the book. I was so glad it 
was in Misses Murphy’s, an’ I guess I’ll keep it 
up there every night ; an’ if she finds out an’ asts. 
I’ll say an’ old trac’ woman left it. She won’t 
mind an old woman. I sh’d hate to tell such a 


MARTYRED CHRISTIANA 12/ 

lie, but when we see him we’ll tell him how it 
was. ’Cause we can’t be murdered.” 

“We just won’t tell any one ’bout goin’ to 
heaven, either. Only Patsey, just at the last.” 

Mrs. Quinn dropped her suspicions in a few 
days. The weather was growing colder, and she 
needed a little more to keep up the internal fires. 
She managed to pay her rent promptly, and so had 
a good reputation with the agent. Through Dil’s 
good management the boys fared very well as to 
food, but Bess did not eat enough to keep a bird 
alive. 

“ But the medicine helps,” she said. “ It’s such 
splendid medicine ! so much better’n that ’Spen- 
sary stuff.” 

The morphine in it soothed and quieted. Some- 
times Bess slept all the morning, and now she was 
seldom wakeful at night. Dil thought that an im- 
provement. If only she was not so frightfully 
thin ! 

The days sped on with little variation. At 
Thanksgiving they had two turkeys, and several 
of Mrs. Quinn’s cronies came in to dinner. They 
feasted all the rest of the week. 

And now another month was gone. Only four 
remained. 

Alas ! with all their care and caution, and the 
ready sympathy of Mrs. Murphy, there came a 


128 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


swift, crushing martyrdom to their much-loved 
Christiana, almost to Dil. She had hurried her 
supper dishes out of the way, tidied up the room, 
and, as her mother had gone to Mrs. MacBride’s, 
Dan in bed with a cold, and Owen roaming the 
streets, Dil brought out her book for an hour’s 
reading. They had come to Giant Grim and his 
blustering threats to the Pilgrims, Who would have 
fared badly indeed but for Mr. Greatheart. Dil 
had to stop to spell many of the words ; often it 
took the united efforts of both brains to decide 
the meaning of a sentence. 

The door opened, and Mrs. Quinn walked in. 
There had been a rather heated talk at Mrs. 
MacBride’s. 

Dil paused suddenly, with a swift, startled breath. 

“What’s that ye got.? ” She came nearer and 
glared over Dil. “ An’ who gev ye that .? ” 

“A — a woman left it!” exclaimed Dil tremu- 
lously. “ An old woman with trac’s ” — 

She pulled Dil up to her feet, and the book fell 
to the floor. 

“An’ it wasn’t that — that singin’ man.?” 

She shook her so that Dil could scarcely make 
a sound, and for once she hardly minded. 

“No man has been here,” declared Bess. 

“ Shet yer head ! ” roared her mother. “ Pick 
up that buke, What’s it all about ? ” 


MARTYRED CHRISTIANA 


129 


“ ’Bout a woman they told me of in the Mission 
School. She took her children an’ — was goin’ to 
heaven ” — 

“Well, you’ve got business here, an’ ye’ll be 
tindin’ to it, it’s my opinion. Ye ain’t got time 
for no sich foolin’. Yer wurruk will kape ye 
busy. Ye best not be settin’ up fer a schollard. 
The radin’ an’ the stuff’ll turn your head upside 
down. Take that ! ” 

Mrs. Quinn gave her a resounding blow with 
it. Before Dil could fairly see, she had marched 
over to the stove. 

“ O mother ! mother ! ” shrieked Dil as she 
caught her arm. 

Mrs. Quinn gave her a push that sent her stag- 
gering across the room. She raised the stove-lid, 
and crowded in the book. 

“Ye’ll not waste yer time over any sich non- 
sense. Git off to bed at wanst, er I’ll make ye 
see stars ! Take that measlin’ brat along wid 
ye.” 

Dil turned the wagon into the small chamber 
without another word. Bess caught her hands, 
but neither dared speak. 

“ Where’s Owny ? ” the mother demanded. 

“ I don’t know,” almost sobbed Dil. 

“ I’ll not hev him runnin’ the streets at night ! 
A foine sister yes are, to be sure, readin’ novils, 


130 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


an’ lettin’ yer pore brother go to destruction ! If 
ye don’t kape him in at night I’ll know the reason 
why. I’ll lie here a bit, an’ I’ll give him a norful 
larrupin’ when he comes.” 

Mrs. Quinn threw herself down on the old 
lounge, and in five minutes was snoring as usual. 
Dil prepared Bess for bed, and rubbed her with a 
soft mitten she had made. The poor thing 
trembled so that it was a positive shudder. Then, 
as the snoring grew louder, they dared to give 
vent to their own overcharged hearts in tears. 

“ An’ to think poor Christiana’s burnt up, an’ 
we can’t tell how she got out of the giant’s 
hands ! Dil, there’s jes’ such truly people, an’ 
mammy’s one of ’em ! Jes’ think if she’d been 
like Christiana, an’ took us by the hand, an’ was 
leadin’ us to heaven, an’ pushin’ the kerrige whiles 
to spell you ! ” 

Then they cried again at the thought, so 
utterly delightful, and the present reality so hard 
to bear. 

“ But we know she did get to heaven,” resumed 
Bess ; “ only we can’t tell how many things there 
were. Dil, it isn’t reel easy to go to heaven, 
after all. But when we have him^ you see he’ll 
do the fightin’, an’ he’ll pick out the way, an’ 
we’ll go right straight along. We won’t stop in 
them queer places an’ get all tangled up; for we’re 


MARTYRED CHRISTIANA I3I 

in such a norful hurry to get there, an’ have my 
hurted legs made well.” 

Dil kissed her convulsively, and cried over the 
shining golden head. Besides the book, there had 
been an irreparable loss to her, that Bess had not 
yet realized. She had tucked her precious picture 
inside the cover of the book. For now she felt it 
must be kept out of her mother’s sight, as she 
could not explain how she came by it, and escape 
with her life. That, too, had perished in the 
flames, the next precious thing to Bess. 

The poor children unlocked arms presently, and 
Dil crept into bed sad and forlorn. She heard 
Owen stealing in, but her mother never stirred. 

Mrs. Quinn sat taking her cup of coffee the 
next morning when Owen made his appearance. 
She tried to recall what had happened last night, 
and whether she had thrashed him or not. 

“ A purty time of night it was for ye to come 
home,” she began. 

“ Oh, come off ! ” said Owen. “ What yer givin’ 
us ? I was home an’ abed afore ye kem in, an’ ye 
was full of the shindy at Mis’ MacBride’s. Don’t 
ye remimber how ye wint on ^ ” 

Owen dodged the cuff. His mother was so 
nonplussed that for once she was helplessly silent. 
But as she went out of the door she turned and 
said, — 


32 - 


in WILD-ROSE TIME 


“ I’ll see yer in to-night, young feller.” 

Dil’s face was in such a maze of surprise that 
she looked at Owen without being able to utter 
a word for some moments, while he laughed 
heartily. 

“ How could ye, Owny ? ” 

“ How cud I Owen laughed again. “Well,” 
with a swagger, “ it’s all in knowin’ how to dale 
with the female sect. Was she thunderin’ mad 
last night ? Did she go fer me ? ” 

“But about Mrs. MacBride.^ How could ye 
know what happened ? ” 

“Why, ye see I was passin’ jes’ after the shindy. 
That Mrs. Whalen who made the row whin she 
beat ye so, ye know, was harang’in’ ; an’ then I 
heard there’d been a great row, an’ mammy’d 
come home mad as a hornet. So, sez I, I’ll wait 
until she’s asleep before I trust myself. An’ its 
jes’ havin’ yer wits about ye. She was too drunk 
to remember what she did. Did she break yer 
head agen I If she did I’ll go an’ complain of 
her. Whin yer tired a-havin’ her round, we’ll 
git her sent up to th’ Island. An’ now get me 
some grub.” 

“ She only struck me wunst. But she burnt up 
something,” and Dil began to sob. “ But, Owny, 
ye were not in, an’ it was a — a ” — 

“ Git off de stump wid yer high notions ! I’d 


MAktYREi) CHkiStiANA 


133 


save me head wid any kind o’ lie. You gals don’t 
know nothin’ but to run right agin de stun wall. 
Ye see, it’s a bit o’ circumwention, an’ ye jes’ use 
yer brains a bit to save yer skull er yer back. 
But dat old gin-mill ain’t goin’ to boss me much 
longer. Ye’ll see, an’ be moighty s’prised. An’ 
here’s a nickel, Dil.” 

Owen ate his breakfast, and then taking out a 
cigarette, lighted it, and swaggered off. 

Dil woke Dan, and gave him his meal, as two 
babies were asleep and the other sat on the floor 
munching a crust. 

Bess slept late. Poor Dil went about her work 
in a strange maze. Owny slipped out of a great 
many things, and told lies about them, and this 
morning he had been very “ cute.” Dil sighed. 
She could not have done it. She would have 
blundered and betrayed herself. And yet she had 
told a lie about the book. It had not' saved the 
book, but perhaps it had saved her and Bess from 
something more terrible. 

It was a sad day for both of them. The babies 
were cross. One had a bad cold and a croupy 
sound in his voice. There was not even a glint 
of sunshine at noon now ; the high houses kept it 
out of the court. But the day wore to an end. 
Mrs. Quinn did not go out at all in the evening. 
Owen was very jaunty, and pretended to study. 


134 


IN WILD-ROSE tIME 


Mrs. Quinn’s reformation lasted two or three 
days. She had “ taken her oath she would niver 
step fut inside o’ Mrs. MacBride’s dure ; ” but 
Mrs. MacBride had no notion of losing so good 
a customer. To be sure, Mrs. Quinn was getting 
rather quarrelsome and overbearing, but she was 
good company for the most part. 

Winter had fairly set in with December. 
There was much talk of dull times, and the babies 
fell off after Monday and Tuesday. Owen and 
his mother seemed continually on the warpath. 
He was a big, stout boy of his age ; and, when he 
thought it was safe, played hookey, put in coal, 
ran errands, sold papers, and did whatever his 
hands found to do with all his might, even to 
snivyin’ on the corner grocer. Dan was pretty 
shrewd and sharp, though not so daring, but 
could swear and smoke cigar ends with the worst 
of them. 

There was an occasional religious visitor in the 
court besides the sisters and the priests. But 
Dil never mentioned them to her mother now. 
Besides, she did not want to leave Bess for even 
an hour or two at the Mission School ; she hated 
to spend a moment away from her. Since the 
loss of the book and the picture they clung closer 
to each other. There was only one anticipation 
now, waiting for spring and John Travis. 


MARTYRED CHRISTIANA 


135 


And as other things failed, their faith seemed 
to centre about this. They lived on the hope of 
heaven with the fervor of saints who had known 
and loved' the Lord, and were counting all the 
appointed days, as if the glories had already been 
revealed, and they were walking by faith. 


136 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


VIII 

BESS 

Everybody began to talk about Christmas. 
Last year Dil had wheeled Bess around to see the 
shop windows. 

“ If it would come reel nice and warm, an’ there 
wasn’t any babies ! But it’s awful cold when you 
just have a winder open to sweep, an’ I couldn’t 
Stan’ bein’ out in it.” 

“ No, you couldn’t,” and Dil sighed. 

Bess was ethereal now. Her large, bright eyes, 
her golden hair, and the pink that came in her 
cheeks every afternoon, gave a suggestion of the 
picture. Then she was so curiously, so nervously 
alive, that, afraid as Dil was of every change, she 
blindly hoped some of these things were indica- 
tions of recovery. 

But Dil’s poor head ached a good deal now, and 
she had restless nights when it seemed as if she 
would burn up. As she listened to Bess’s beau- 
tiful thoughts and strange visions, she felt dis- 
couraged with her own stupidness. She was so 
physically worn out that her brain was inert. 


BESS 


137 

I wisht I knew what Christmas was all about,” 
sighed Bess. “ An’ Santa Claus ! Mammy says 
there ain’t no such thing, an’ he couldn’t come 
down a chimbly. But he gives a norful lot of 
things to some folks. An’, Dil, we used to hang 
up our stockings. What’s it for, anyway ? ” 

Dil gave a long sigh, and the wrinkles of per- 
plexity deepened and strayed over her short nose. 

“Johnny Dike’s goin’ to see the cradle in the 
manger on Christmas Eve. An’ he’s goin’ to take 
a present, some money he’s been savin’ up. What 
makes Christ get born agen ? ’Tain’t the Lord 
Jesus, though ; for he’s a big man now, if he can 
carry children in his arms.” 

“ We might ast Johnny or Misses Murphy,” 
suggested Dil. 

“ They’re Catholics. An’ there’s such curis 
things, with people tellin’ you diff’rent. I don’t 
see how he can be born every Christmas. I 
b’lieve I like Santa Claus best. You don’t have 
to give him nothin’ when you ain’t got even a 
penny. O Dil,” pausing to rest a moment, “ don’t 
you wisht /le was here ! He’d know all about it. 
Rich folks have chances, an’ get to know every- 
thing. He’s a long way off. When mammy was 
clever t’other night, I ast her ’bout cornin’ crost 
the oshin, ’Lantic Oshin, ’tis ; an’ she said you 
sailed an’ sailed two whole weeks. An’ if he 


I3S IN WILD-ROSE TIME 

don’t Start ’till April, there’ll be two weeks more. 
I keep countin’ thim up.” 

Dil had been warming some broth. 

‘‘ I wisht you’d take a little of this,” she said. 
*‘The ’Spensary doctor said you must have it. 
An’ you ain’t eat nothin’ but the pear an’ the 
piece of norange.” 

“ They was so good and juicy. My throat’s 
hot, an’ kinder dry an’ sore. Things don’t taste 
good.” 

“ I wisht I could get some more of that nice 
medicine. The ’Spensary stuff ain’t no good. I 
might ast Patsey to lend me some money ; but 
how’d I ever get any to pay him back ? ” 

They looked at each other in wonderment. 
Then the child’s feverish eyes sparkled. 

“ O Dil, I know /led. help us pay it back, for 
mammy was so cross to the lady he sent that she 
won’t come no more. An’ ’twouldn’t been no use 
to give mammy the money. O Dil, we’ve had ten 
whole dollars. Wasn’t it lovely } An’ I wisht the 
time would spin round an’ round, faster’n ever. I 
get so tired waitin’. Seems sometimes ’s if I jes’ 
couldn’t draw another breath.” 

Oh, you must ! you must ! ” cried Dil in 
affright. For when people stop breathin’, they 
die.” 

“An’ I wanter live, so’s we can get started 


B£SS 


n9 


for heaven. I’ll be better when it’s all nice an’ 
warm out o’ doors, an’ sunshiny. I’d jes’ like to 
live in sunshine. You see, when the babies cry, it 
makes me feel all roughened up like. An’ I’m 
that feared o’ mammy when she an’ Owny hev 
scrimmiges. There’s a lump comes in my throat 
’n’ chokes me. But I’m gonter live. Don’t you 
know how las’ winter I was so poor an’ measlin’ ? 
An’ I crawled out in the spring. Owny was 
readin’ in his lesson ’bout some things doin’ that 
way ; ” and Bess gave a pitiful ghost of a laugh. 

“ Won’t you lay me down } ” she asked pres- 
ently. “ My poor back’s so tired.” 

“You must eat some broth first.” 

She did not want it, and the effort she made to 
please Dil was heroic. 

She often asked to be laid down now. When 
the babies cried, it seemed as if knives were being 
thrust into her head. She had so many queer 
fancies, but she tried not to tell the bad ones 
to Dil. One moment she seemed out of doors, 
with the cold rasping her skin everywhere, going 
down her back like a stream of ice-water. Then 
she was scorched with heat, her skin crisping up 
and cracking. When she was pillowed up, it 
seemed as if she would fall to pieces ; when she 
was laid down, the poor bones ached. 

And in that land of “ pure delight ” there was 


IN WiLD-ROSE time 


1 40 

no pain, no sickness, no chilling winds ! And per- 
haps the babies didn’t cry, — maybe there were no 
babies. They mightn’t be big enough to go, and 
they would be scared at the giants. 

Monday night began badly. A neighbor came 
in and made a complaint about Owen, and threat- 
ened to have him arrested. He had broken a 
pane of glass and kicked her dog. Mrs. Quinn 
was tired with a big wash; and this made her 
furious, though she went at the woman in no 
gentle terms. 

Owen had not been so much to blame. The 
miserable little cur had snapped at him, and he 
had kicked it away. Then, as it ran yelping along, 
it was too good a mark for a boy to miss. He 
shied a piece of oyster shell ; but, as bad luck 
would have it, he missed the dog, and the . missile 
bounded down to a basement window. 

I’ll put that lad in the ’form school this blissid 
week ! A pore woman can’t take care o’ sich a lot 
o’ brats, an’ they fuller ’n an egg of diviltry. I’ll 
jist see ” — 

She began to hunt around for the end of a stout 
trunk-strap. Dil trembled in every limb. If Owny 
would only stay away ! But he didn’t. He came 
up the stairs whistling gayly ; for he had earned 
a quarter, and he was saving money to have a 
regular Christmas blow-out. 


BESS 


I4I 

His mother fell on him. There was a tremen- 
dous battle. Owen kicked and scratched and 
swore, and his mother’s language was not over 
choice. He managed to wriggle away, and reached 
the door, crying out, as he sprang down the stairs, 
that he’d “niver darken the dure agin, if he lived 
a hundred years and added to it an imprecation 
that made Dil turn faint and cold. 

Bess went into a hysteric. 

“ Drat the young un ! Shet yer head, er you’ll 
get some, ye bag o’ bones! Ye shud a ben in yer 
grave long ago. Take her in t’other room, Dil. I 
can’t bide the sight uv her ! ” 

Dil uttered not a word, though the room spun 
round. She poured her mother a cup of tea, and 
had a dish of nicely browned sausage, and some 
baked potatoes. Mrs. Quinn ate, and threatened 
dire things about Owny. Then she put on her 
shawl, throwing it over her head, which meant an 
hour or two or three at Mrs. MacBride’s, though 
she started to look for Owen. 

Dil brought the wagon back, and nursed and 
soothed Bess. 

“I wouldn’t ever come back, if I was Owny,” 
she said in her spasmodic tone, for the nervous 
fright was still strong upon her. “An’ if I had 
two good legs, we’d run away too. Dil, I think 
she’d jes’ be glad to have me die.” 


142 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


Dilsey Quinn shuddered. Just a few months 
longer — 

Mrs. Murphy came in to borrow a “ bit o’ tay,” 
and to learn what the rumpus was about. Dan 
told the story, putting Owny in the best light, and 
declaring valiantly that “ Owny wasn’t no chump.” 

“ Misses Murphy,” said Dil, as soon as she could 
get a chance, what is it ’bout Christmas ? an’ 
what makes Christ be born ivery year.^” 

“ Shure, dear, I do be havin’ so many worries 
that I disremember. What wid th’ babby bein’ 
sick, an’ pore ol’ Mis’ Bolan not sittin’ up a min- 
nit, an’ bein’ queer like in her mind, an’ me hardly 
aimin’ enough to keep body an’ sowl togither, I 
hardly mind ’bout the blissed day. But I do be 
thinkin’ he isn’t born reely, for ye see the blissid 
Virgin’s his mother, 'an’ she’s in hivin wid th’ 
saints. I do be a bad hand at tellin’ things 
straight ; but I niver had any lamin’, fer I wint in 
a mill whin I was turned o’ six years. An’ whin 
ye can’t rade, it’s hard gettin’ to know much. But 
I’ll ast the praist. Ah, dear,” with a furtive 
glance at Dil, “ If ye’d only let me ast him to 
come ” — 

“Oh, no, no!” protested Dil. “Mother’d kill 
us ; an’ she don’t b’leve in priests an’ such. You 
know how she went on ’bout the man who came 
an’ sang.” 


BESS 


143 


“Ah, yis, dear; it wouldn’t do.” And she shook 
her head, her eyes still fixed sorrowfully on Bess. 
“ But I have me beads, an’ I go to confission 
wanst a month, an’ that’ll be Friday now, an’ I’ll 
ast Father Maginn an’ tell ye all. Oh, yon poor 
childer! An’ it’ll be a sad Christmas fer many a 
wan. I’m thinkin’. There’s poor Mis’ Bolan ” — 

Mrs. Murphy paused. Was Dil so blind } She 
could not suggest Mrs. Bolan’s death when the 
great shadow seemed so near them. . 

“Dear,” she added, with sympathetic softness, 
“ if ye should be wantin’ any one suddint like, 
run up fer me.” 

“ Yer very kind, Misses Murphy. I sometimes 
wisht there would be nights a whole week long. 
I’m so tired.” 

Owen did not come home that night nor the 
next. Dil devoutly hoped he would not come at 
all. She had a secret feeling that he would go 
to Patsey, and she comforted Bess with it. The 
house was so much quieter, and Dan was better 
alone. 

Even in Barker’s Court there were people who 
believed in Christmas, though some of them had 
ideas quite as vague as Dilsey Quinn’s. But there 
was a stir in the very air, and penny trumpets 
began to abound. Still, there were many who 
had no time for Christmas anticipations, who were 


144 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


driven to do their six days’ work in five, who 
stitched from morning to midnight, who did not 
even have time to gossip with a neighbor. 

Poor Bess ! she could not eat, and she was so 
restless. The pears and the oranges were gone, 
and, saddest of all, their bank was empty. If 
Patsey would only come ! 

Dil took Bess up and laid her down, gave her 
sips of water, caressed her tenderly, bathed her 
head with cologne, and even that was running 
low. The babies were left on the floor to cry, if 
Dil caught the faintest sound that was like desire. 
Bess often just held up her spindling arms and, 
drawing Dil down, kissed her with eager fervor. 

She was sd glad to have night come and see 
the last baby taken away. Mrs. Quinn was work- 
ing at a grand house where they were to have a 
Christmas feast. She was to go again to-morrow ; 
and, as it was late, she did not go out, but just 
tumbled into bed, with not an anxiety on her 
mind. 

Dil sat and crooned to her little sister, who 
seemed a part of her very life. When Mrs. 
Quinn snored, it was safe to indulge in a little 
freedom. And though Dil was so worn and 
weary, she ministered as only love can. Every- 
body had been so used to Bess’s weakness, and 
they thought that the end would be a great relief. 


BESS 145 

But Dil never dreamed of the end they saw so 
plainly. 

It was past midnight when Dil laid her down 
for the last time. 

“ O Dil, I feel so nice an’ easy all of a siid- 
dent,” she cried, with an eager joyousness that 
thrilled the heavy heart. “ Nothin’ pains me. 
I’m quite sure I’ll be better to-morrow. An’ 
when Patsey comes, we’ll just ast him to help 
us get that nice medicine. He’s so good to us, 
Dil ; ’n’ if he had lots of money he’d give us 
anything.” 

‘^He just would,” said Dil. “An’ if Owny’s 
gone to him, he’ll be all right.” 

The thought comforted her immeasurably. 

“ O Dil, dear,” murmured the plaintive voice, 
“do you remember the big bowl of wild roses, 
an’ how sweet they were, an’ how pritty, with 
their soft pink leaves an’ baby buds } I can 
almost smell them. It’s so sweet all around. 
Dil, are there any wild roses ? ” 

“No, dear,” said the gentle, tired voice. 

“ Well — then I’m dreamin’ ; an’ they’re so 
lovely. Just like ke told us, you know; ’bout 
that place where they growed. Oh, you dear, 
sweet, lovely Dil ! I want to see the picture he 
put you in. You were pritty, I know; folks 
always are pritty in pictures, An’ we’ll ast him 


146 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


to let US be taken over agen, for when we get on 
the way to heaven we’ll both be so full of joy. 
An’ he’ll help us clear to the pallis.” 

She stopped to breathe. It came so quick and 
short now, hardly going below her chest. 

“Sit here an’ hold my two hands. Dil, dear, 
I’m as much trouble as the babies; but I most 
know I’ll be better to-morrow And when I go 
fast asleep, you run right to bed, an’ it’ll be all 
right. I feel so light an’ lovely, ’most ’s if I was 
a wild rose — a soft, pink, satiny wild rose.” 

There was a little pleasant gurgle that did duty 
for a laugh. Dil kissed her and crooned sleepily. 
As she held the hands, the fever seemed to go 
out of them. The little golden head had such a 
restful poise. The breath came slowly, easily. 

Dil kissed her with the long, yearning, passion- 
ate kisses that take one’s whole soul, that leave 
some souls bankrupt indeed. All her own being 
was in a strange quiver. Oh, did it mean that 
Bess would be better to-morrow } She believed it 
in some strange, undefined way, and was at peace. 

Perhaps she drowsed. She started, feeling 
stiff and chilly. Bess slept tranquilly. There 
was no pain to make her moan unconsciously. 
Why, it was almost a foretaste of that blessed 
land. 

Dil wrapped herself in an old shawl and dropped 


BESS 


147 


down on her little cot. In all the glad wide world 
there was no one to come in and comfort her, and 
so God sent his angel — kindly sleep. The night 
breath that he breathed over her had the fragrance 
of wild roses. 

The alarm clock roused her. It was dark now 
when her day began. Bess was quiet; and she 
drew the blanket more closely around her, for the 
morning felt bitterly cold. She stirred the fire, 
made her mother’s coffee, and broiled a bit of 
steak. The windows were all ice, which seldom 
happened. 

“It’s enough to kill one to go out in the cold,” 
declared Mrs. Quinn. “ I’ll not be home airly the 
night, for I promised cook to stay a bit an’ gev 
her a hand wid th’ fancy fixin’s. Foine doin’s 
they’re to be havin’. An’ if that thafe of the 
world Owny comes in, ye be soft spoken jist as if 
nothin’ had happened. I’ll settle wid him. I’ll 
gev him some Christmas ! ” 

With that she was off. Then Dan came for 
his breakfast. 

“ I do miss Owny so,” he half whimpered. 
“Ther’ ain’t a boy in the street who could think 
up such roarin’ fun.” 

“ Whisht ! ” Dil said softly. “ Bess is asleep, 
an’ I won’t have her worrited. She had a bad 
time yist’day with the babies. I do hope there 


148 IN WILD-ROSE TIME 

won’t De no such crowd to-day. Seven babies 
an’ that was thirty-five cents. Mother might be 
given Bess an’ me some Christmas.” 

Dan laughed at that. 

Dil sighed. She drank a little coffee, but she 
could not eat. Two sleepy babies came. She 
washed the dishes, and spread up her mother’s 
bed, putting the babies in there. It was dark, 
with no ventilation but the door, and kept warm 
easily. 

Another and another baby, one crying for its 
mother. When Dil had hushed it she took a 
vague glance at Bess, whose fair head lay there so 
restful-. The frost was melting off the window- 
panes, and she put out the lamp. With a baby in 
her arms she sat down and rocked. 

A curious sense of something, not quite anx- 
iety, came over her presently. She went to Bess 
and raised the blanket, peering at the small white 
face that seemed almost to light the obscurity of 
the room. The eyes were half-closed. The lips 
were parted with a smile, and the little white 
teeth just showed. One hand seemed to hold 
up the chin. 

Dil stooped and kissed her. O God ! what was 
it ? What was it? For Bess was marble cold. 

O Bess, Bess!” she cried in mortal terror. 
“ Wake up, my darlin’ 1 Wake up an’ get warm.” 


BESS 


149 


As she seized the hand, a startling change came 
over the child. The chin dropped. The pretty 
smile was gone. The eyes looked out with awe- 
some fixedness. Her heart stood still as if she 
were frozen. 

Then, moved by horror, she flew up-stairs, her 
breath almost strangling her. 

‘‘O Misses Murphy!” she shrieked, “there’s 
somethin’ strange .come over Bess. She’s never 
been like this — an’ cold” — 

“Yis, dear. I’ll jist look at poor Mis’ Bolan. 
She do be goin’ very fast. All night she was that 
res’les’ talkin’ of the beautiful hymn the man 
sung, an’ beggin’ him to sing it agen ; an’ then 
bearin’ angels an’ talkin’ ’bout green fields an’ 
flowers, an’ where there do be no night. They 
do be mostly so at the last, rememberin’ beautiful 
things.” 

An awful terror clutched Dil at the heart, as 
she recalled Bess’s talk of the wild roses. So 
cruel a fear smote her that her very tongue 
seemed paralyzed. 

“ You don’t mean ” — she cried wildly. 

Mrs. Murphy’s thoughts were running on Mrs. 
Bolan. 

“ She’ll not last the day through. Pore dear, 
there’s not much pleasure to the’r ould lives. But 
she did be so longin’ to have that man come 
agen” — 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


150 

She had taken Dil’s hand, and they were going 
down-stairs. A baby had rolled off the lounge 
and bumped his head, and was screaming. But 
Dil hardly heard him. They went through to the 
tiny room. 

‘‘ Ah, pore dear ! Pore lamb ! She’s gone, an’ 
she’s outen all her mis’ry. She’ll niver suffer any 
more. An’ she’s safe” — 

Mrs. Murphy paused, not quite sure she could 
give that comfort. There was purgatory, and the 
poor thing had never been christened. She was 
extremely ignorant of her own church .doctrine ; 
but she felt the bitter injustice of condemning 
this poor soul to everlasting torment for her 
mother’s neglect. 

‘‘No, Misses Murphy,” cried Dil in the accent 
of utter disbelief, , “she can’t be — Oh, hurry 
an’ do somethin’ for her. She’s jes fainted ! Le’s 
get her warm agen. Bring her out to the fire, 
an’ I’ll run for the ’Spensary doctor. Oh, no, she 
isn’t — she wouldn’t — ’cause we was goin’ to 
heaven together in the spring, an’ she couldn’t 
leave me without a word — don’t you see 

Oh, the wild, imploring eyes that pierced Mrs. 
Murphy through ! the heart-breaking eyes that 
entreated vainly, refusing the one unalterable 
fiat! 

“ Ah, dear, they’sen don’t hev any ch’ice. O 


BESS 


I5I 

Dil, Dilly Quinn ! ” and she clasped the child to 
her heart. “You mustn’t take on so, dear! 
Shure, God knows best. Mebbe he’s better’n 
folks an’ the things they say. She won’t suffer 
any more, pore dear. I’ve seen it for weeks, an’ 
knowed what must come.” 

Dil gave a few long, dry, terrible sobs ; then she 
lay helpless in Mrs. Murphy’s arms. The kind 
soul placed her on the cot, sprinkled water on 
her face, chafed her hands ; but Dil lay as one 
dead. 

Then she ran down-stairs. 

“O Mrs. Minch! have ye iver a bit of cam- 
phire ? I used the last o’ mine this mornin’ for 
the pore old craythur. Bessy Quinn’s gone at 
last, an’ is cold, an’ Dil’s that overcome she’s gone 
in an norful faint. Come up a bit, do. An’ that 
haythen woman’ll not care more’n if it was a 
kitten. She do be the hardest ! ” 

Mrs. Minch laid down her work, looked up the 
“ camphire,” and plied her caller with inquiries. 

All their efforts were unavailing, though Dil 
opened her eyes once, and at intervals a shudder 
ran through her frame. 

“Yes, the poor dear’s dead and cold, and it’s 
God’s mercy, Mrs. Murphy. How she’s lived so 
long’s a mystery ; but Dil’s been more watchful 
than most any mother. She was the sweetest 


152 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


and patientest, and loved her beyond all things. 
Mrs. Quinn hasn’t any human feeling in her, and 
there’s plenty like her, more’s the shame. When 
you bring helpless little ones in the world, it’s not 
their fault. And when they are bruised and 
banged and made helpless, as that poor little one, 
a mother’s heart should have pitied her.” 

“ Oh, dear, it’s the rum that takes out all the 
nateral feelin’. An’ one ’ud think she’d had 
enough of it in her husband, not to be goin’ the 
same way. An’ pore Dil carin’ for them babies 
an’ doin’ a woman’s work, a-stuntin’ her an’ makin’ 
her old afore her time. An’, if ye’ll stay. I’ll 
go fer th’ ’Spensary doctor. Sorra a Christmas 
it’ll be in the court. Mr. Sheehan is dyin’, an’ 
Mrs. Neefus’s baby went yes’tday, an’ the ould 
woman — but they do be dyin’ all the time, some 
wan.” 

Mrs. Minch bent over Dil with pitying eyes. 
She had seen better times, and lived in a nicer 
neighborhood than Barker’s Court. But poverty 
had driven her down step by step. She had her 
old deaf father to care for, and a son growing up ; 
and the three rooms, such as they were, proved 
cheaper than anything she had seen, though she 
was on the lookout all the time. She had not 
made much intimacy with her neighbors, except 
that through her pity for Mrs. Bolan she had come 


BESS 


153 


to know good-hearted Mrs. Murphy quite well, 
and she had been interested in Dilsey and Bess. 
But most of the people in the court were afraid 
of Mrs. Quinn’s tongue. 

“ The poor thing ! ” she sighed. “ She is a little 
old woman already. She has never had leave to 
grow as children should. Oh, why are .they 
brought into the world to suffer ? ” 

She had once thought herself full of trust and 
love to God, but so many questions had come to 
the surface with her years of hard -experience. 
Why this little Bess should have suffered four 
years — but both parents had given her a good 
constitution, that in some positions in life might 
have made her a useful factor instead of mere 
waste material. 

Then she took up one of the crying babies. 
Another was clamoring loudly, “ Bed, bed,” and 
opening wide his mouth to show her how empty 
it was. 

‘‘Oh, how ever did she look after them all ” 
she cried in despair as Mrs. Murphy entered. 

“ She had a rare way with childers, that she 
had.” Mrs. Murphy cut a chunk from the loaf of 
bread and gave the hungry baby. “An’ the doc- 
thor will be in as soon as he kin, but there’s 
a sight o’ folks waitin’. I have heerd say a 
grane Christmas made fat graveyards, but this is 


154 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


cold enough to be black. An’ how’s the poor 
gurl.?” 

She seems — asleep somehow, and you can 
notice her breathin’.” 

“ I’ll look after Mrs. Bolan, an’ kem down agen,” 
said Mrs. Murphy, disappearing. 


DILSEY 


155 


IX 

DILSEY 

Mrs. Bolan was faintly breathing, as she had 
been since midnight, but so cold that she might 
easily be thought dead. Mrs. Murphy’s baby was 
asleep. 

The babies were crowing and talking in their 
fashion, unmindful of sorrow. 

“ The pore dear,” said Mrs. Murphy tenderly, 
viewing Bess ; “ I’m thinkin’ we better care for 
her afore Dil wakes up. An’ she never havin’ 
had a bit o’ christenin’, along o’ Mrs. Quinn not 
belevin’ nothin’. I’ve heard her talk a way that 
wud set yer blood a-chill.” 

“ The Lord took the little ones in his arms and 
said, ‘ Forbid them not,’ and I guess he won’t 
mind the christenin’. And this child’s been pa- 
tient and cheerful beyond common. I think she’s 
had a lot of Christian grace unbeknownst. She’d 
look up with her sweet smile that almost broke 
your heart, when Dil would be takin’ her out. 
And how she stood everything ” — 


156 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


“ Mrs. Quinn’s been not so savage as she used. 
’Tain’t nat’rel for mothers to be so cruel. But 
’twas last March, if I don’t disremember — you 
were not here then, Mrs. Minch — she made such 
a nawful ’ruction that the neighbors called in de 
cop, and nothin’ but her beggin’ off an’ sayin’ the 
children wud starve, an’ promisin’ on her bended 
knees, which she never uses fer a bit o’ prayer, 
saved her. An’ she don’t bang ’em about quite 
so bad since.” 

“There was an awful time the other night.” 

“Yes; that Owny’s too smart, an’ mebbe he 
would er banged her in a fair fight ; but he cut 
stick, an’ hasn’t shown hide ner hair sence.” 

Mrs. Murphy leaned over Dil, and uttered a 
benison in her ignorant Christianity. 

“’Pears like they jist oughten to go togither. 
She looks like a ghost, poor thing.” Then she 
lifted Bess from the shabby wagon that had been 
her home so long, and brought her out on the 
lounge. 

“ Will ye look at them poor legs } ” she said 
with a cry. “ They do make yer heart bleed. 
She was a smart little thing,' goin’ to school, whin 
it happened. The father oughter been hung fer 
it ; fer it was he that did it, murderin’ by inches. 
An’ he beat Mrs. Quinn to a jelly. Wudden’t ye 
think now she’d had enough o’ rum, not to be 
goin’ the same road ? ” 


DILSEY 


157 


Mrs. Minch sighed. 

“ It’s stuck everywhere, right in a body’s way, 
Mrs. Murphy. They’re taxin’ people for prisons 
and ’sylums and homes for orphans, when they 
haven’t the sense to shut up the saloons and gin- 
mills. Look at that Mrs. MacBride, smilin’ and 
making it pleasant for a hard-workin’ woman, havin’ 
a nice warm room for gossipin’ and such, and bein’ 
clever enough to make them run up a score, and 
get her money once a week. There’s no dancin’ 
nor carousin’ ; but it takes in the decentish sort of 
women, and turns ’em out as bad as the men. It’s 
the poor families that’s pinched and starved and 
set crazy. When I think of my boy growin’ up in 
it — but where’ll poor folks go .? Saloons are all 
over. They fight for the chance to ruin folks.” 

“Thrue for ye, Mrs. Minch. An’ sorra indade 
it is whin ye do be sad that they come into the 
world, an’ rej’ice whin they go out of it young. 
They’re spared a dale o’ pain an’ care. Yet it do 
seem wrong some way. Childers should be a 
blessin’ an’ comfort to yer ould age. Things is 
changed in the world. One gits that confused 
with thinkin’ ” — 

They had prepared some water, but the poor 
little body was clean and sweet. It was heart- 
breaking to see it. 

Mrs. Murphy went into the bedroom for somQ 
clothing. 


158 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


“ Will ye look at the sort o’ bury Dil made out o’ 
boxes an’ covered. She’s that handy an’ full o’ wit. 
An’ them clo’es is like snow, and all mended nate. 
I don’t see how she cud do it wid all the babies. 
An’ I do be thinkin’ it was Dil’s love that kep’ the 
little wan alive so long. It was like medicine ; 
her warm arms an’ cheery smile, her patience an’ 
thinkin’ what wud pleasure Bess. If there don’t 
be a straight road to hiven fer thim both — an’ 
purgatory ought to be saved fer the ither kind. 
Now, it don’t look a bit sinsible that little lamb 
shud suffer whin she’s suffered so much a’ ready ! 
Sometimes I most think the church has mis- 
took whin they save the rumsellers an’ the great 
wicked men wid their money, cause they kin pay 
fer prayers.” 

** She’s in heaven, if there is any heaven.” 
Sometimes Mrs. Minch doubted. 

“ An’ oh, Mrs. Minch, if there wasn’t any hiven 
to rest us at last, how cud we live through the 
cruel world ? ” 

Such a pathetic cry as it was ! 

The doctor came. He looked at Bess, and asked 
a few questions, made a note or two in his book, 
cutting short Mrs. Murphy’s explanations. 

“Yes, yes; I’ve seen the child. She’s been 
strung on fine steel wires, or they’d given way 
long ago. And the old woman ? Strange how 


DILSEY 


159 


they go on living when they had a hundred times 
better be dead, and the people of some account 
go out like the snuff of a candle ! Where’s the 
girl ? ” glancing around. 

‘‘ In there.” Mrs. Murphy nodded towards the 
room. 

Dil lay motionless, but for the faint breathing. 
The doctor listened with his ear down on her 
heart, felt her pulse, and seemed in a study. 

“ Let her sleep as long as she can. She has 
worn herself out. She used to wheel this one 
round,” nodding. “ Have in some fresh air ; the 
room is stifling. How any one lives ” — 

Dil roused without opening her eyes. 

‘‘Was it you, Bess Oh, is it morning 

“No, no; go to sleep again. The night’s just 
begun. She’s dead tired out,” to the women. 
“ Let the mother come round when she can, and 
get rid of these young ones before the girl 
wakes. If there’s anything else wanted, send 
round. Are these people very poor.?” 

“ Mrs. Quinn goes out washing. And the 
babies are taken in by the day. I don’t know” — 
doubtfully. 

“ The mother will settle that. And the old 
lady — the city must bury her, I suppose .? ” 

“ ’Deed an’ it must. She’s had nothin’ but her 
pinshin, an’ has no folk,” 


l60 IN WILD-ROSE TIME 

They found Bess’s nice white frock pinned up 
in a cloth, beautifully ironed and laid away in 
anticipation of the journey — the very journey 
she had taken so unknowingly. They put it on, 
and smoothed down the poor little legs with ten- 
der hands. Then they laid her on her mother’s 
bed until Dil should rouse. 

Mrs. Minch brought up her sewing, while Mrs. 
Murphy went to her own room to look after 
Mrs. Bolan. Mrs. Carr, another neighbor, came 
in and helped with the babies, and wondered how 
Dilly Quinn had ever been able to do as much 
work as a hearty, grown woman, and she not 
bigger than a ten-year-old child ! 

It was three o’clock when Dil roused. Mrs. 
Minch sat quietly at her sewing. The wagon was 
pushed clear up to the window, empty. 

“O Mrs. Minch, what has happened.^” She 
sprang out, wild-eyed and quivering. 

“ My dear,” Mrs. Minch took her in her arms, 
“Bess is better off. She is in heaven with the 
good God, who will be tenderer of her than any 
human friend. She will have no more pain. She 
will be well and strong, and a lovely angel. You 
would not wish her back ” — 

“Yes, I do, I do. We was goin’ to heaven 
together in the spring ; we had it all planned. 
And Bess wouldn’t ’a’ gone without me — oh^ I 


DILSEY 


l6 


know she wouldn’t. Where is she ? What have 
you done with her ? ” 

“ She is in there.” 

Dil flew to her mother’s room. The ironing:- 
board lay on the bed, and a strange, still shape 
imperfectly outlined under the sheet. 

She looks like an angel,” said Mrs. Minch. 

Dilsey Quinn stared, bereft of her senses for 
some moments. Slowly the incidents of the 
morning came over her — of last night, when 
Bess seemed so improved, so hopeful. She had 
seen dead people. Death was no stranger in 
Barker’s Court. There were “wakes,” and quiet, 
hurried burials. They died and were taken away, 
that was all. With a curious, obstinate unreason 
she knew Bess had died like all the rest ; yet she 
had been so sure Bess could not die. But she had 
no^ gone to heaven. The breath had gone out of 
her body, but a breath couldn’t go to heaven. 
She had left her body here ; the poor hurted legs 
the Lord Jesus would have mended. They could 
never be mended now, for they would be put in 
the ground. 

She stood so still that Mrs. Minch raised the 
sheet. The pinched look was going out of the 
face, as it often does after death. The eyes were 
closed ; the long bronze l^-shes were beautiful ; 
the thin lips had been pressed rather tightly, as 


i 62 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


if in fear that they might betray their secret. 
Yet it had a strange, serene beauty. 

Dil did not cry or utter a sound. A great soli- 
tude enveloped her, as if she were alone in a 
wide desert. She would never have any one to 
love or caress ; a thick darkness settled all about 
her, as if now she and Bess were shut out of 
heaven forever. For what would the palace be, 
and the angels innumerable, if Bess was not 
there ? 

She turned and went to her own room, began 
to pick up the things and tidy it, spread the cot, 
shook the cushion of the poor dilapidated wagon, 
carefully laid over it the blanket she had taken 
so much pains to make. 

‘‘Mrs. Minch,” she said, “will you please bring 
Bess in here. Mammy wouldn’t like her there. 
An’ I want her here — on my bed.” 

Mrs. Minch looked at her in surprise. The 
face was rigid and unresponsive, but there was 
an awesome, chilling sorrow in every line. She 
reverently obeyed Dil’s behest. 

“You are very good. You see, no one cared 
’bout her but jes’ me an’ Patsey an’” — Ah, 
what would John Travis say.? “An’ I want to 
keep her here.” 

“ My dear, dear child ” — 

She put away the kindly hands, not ungently, 


DILSEY 163 

but as if she could not quite bear them — as if she 
was too sore for any human touch. 

“ How did I come to sleep so long } ” she asked, 
in a strained, weary tone. 

“You were so tired, poor dear. The doctor 
was in, and he said it was the best thing for you. 
Mrs. Murphy has been in and out, and Mrs. 
Carr.” 

“You took care of the babies.?” Her lips 
quivered, and a few big tears rolled down her 
cheeks. She could suffer, if the time to sorrow 
had not yet come. 

“ Yes, dear. I don’t see how you get along so 
with them. And do you feel better .? ” 

The kind eyes studied her with concern. 

“I’m well. I never do get sick.” 

“ Do you know where your mother is .? ” 

“ Not the street. No, ma’am. The people 
have a queer long name. An’ she’ll be late th’ 
night.” 

Mrs. Murphy looked in the door. 

“ Ah, yer up, an’ ye do look better. Hev ye 
had anything to ate .? Do ye mind if I have Mrs. 
Minch come up-stairs just a bit .? ” 

“Oh, no.” Dil did not notice the strain in the 
eyes, the awesomeness of facing death. 

“ I cudden’t be alone. She’s roused, but she’s 
almost gone; fightin’ fer life, one may say, at 


164 IN WILD-ROSE TIME 

the very end,” she whispered as they went up 
the stairs. 

The babies were amusing themselves. Dil un- 
covered the face of her dead, and looked long and 
earnestly, as if she knew there was a great mys- 
tery she ought to solve. Ah, how sweet she was ! 
Dil’s heart swelled with a sense of triumph. She 
had always been so proud of Bess’s beauty. 

But what was deadf It happened any time, 
and to anybody, to babies mostly, and made you 
cold and still, useless. Then you were taken 
away and buried. It was altogether different 
from going to heaven. What strange power had 
taken Bess, and kept her from that blessed jour- 
ney ^ Why did the Lord Jesus let any one do 
it.? John Travis couldn’t have been so mistaken, 
and Christiana, and the children. 

She was so glad they had put on her best 
dress, bought with John Travis’s money. Ah; if 
they only had started that day and risked all ! 
Here was her blue sash and the blue bows for 
her sleeves. She hardly had the courage to 
touch the beloved form. 

How strangely cold the little hands were. She 
kissed them, and then she no longer felt afraid. 
She raised the frail figure, and passed the ribbon 
round the waist. Almost it seemed as if Bess 
breathed. 


DILSEV 


165 


She brought the brush and comb, and curled 
the hair in her own flowing fashion, picking out 
the pretty bang in rings, kissing the cold cheeks, 
the shell-like eyelids. Why, surely Bess was only 
asleep. She must, she would waken, to-morrow 
morning perhaps. A sudden buoyant hope elec- 
trified her. She had her again, and the horrible 
thought of separation vanished. Dil was too 
ignorant to formulate any theories, but every 
pulse stirred within her own body. 

Two of the mothers came for babies, but she 
uttered no word of what had happened. Then 
she fed the others, and fixed the fire, and Dan 
peered in fearfully. She gave him a slice' of 
bread, and he was glad to be off. 

Up-stairs they had' watched the breath go out 
of the poor body. 

“ Pore thing ! God rist her sowl wheriver it 
is,” and Mrs. Murphy crossed herself. 

“ Has she no friends ? ” 

Not a wan, I belayve. She used to. talk of 
some nevys whin she first come, that’s nigh two 
years ago. But she’d lost track of them. I’m 
sure I’ve taken good care of the pore ould cray- 
thur, an’ I hope some wan will do the same to 
me at the last.” 

“ You’re a kindly woman, Mrs. Murphy, and 
God grant it. We don’t know where nor when 
the end will come.” 


166 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


Mrs. Minch stopped as she went down-stairS* 

“Poor old Mrs. Bolan has gone to the better 
land. She and Bess will have a Christmas with 
the angels. They will not want to come back 
here.” 

Dil had no courage to argue. But she knew 
to the very farthest fibre of her being, that noth- 
ing could so change Bess that she would desire 
to stay anywhere without her. 

Mrs. Garrick had heard the tidings before she 
came in for her baby, and was profuse in her 
sympathies. 

“ But it’s the Lord’s mercy, for she were a poor 
sufterer, and was jist waitin’. How did it hap- 
pen ? Was it in the night, whilst ye were all 
asleep ? An’ to think yer poor mother whint 
away knowin’ nothin’.” 

“ I can’t talk about it. I — I don’t know.” 

“ An’ old Mis’ Bolan. Well, I’ll run up-stairs a 
bit, an’ see Mrs. Murphy.” 

She was rewarded for her trouble here ; the 
strange curiosity of some, as if the dead face 
could answer the mystery. 

“ She’s a moighty quare girl, that Dilsey Quinn. 
Niver to be askin’ one to look at the corpse ; an’ 
if Bess hadn’t been so peaked, she would have 
been a pritty child. She had such iligant hair.” 

The neighbors began to make calls of condo- 


DILSEY 167 

lence. Two deaths in a house was an event 
rather out of the common order of things. 

Dil awed them by her quiet demeanor, and 
answered apathetically, busying herself with the 
supper. 

“ What hev ye done wid her ? ” asked one. 

Shure, she’s not bin tuk away } ” 

“No; she’s in ther’, in my room. An’ — an’ 
she’s mine.” 

For to Dil there seemed something sacred about 
Bess, and she kept guard rigorously. It was not 
simply a dead body to gloat over. They could go 
up-stairs and look at Mrs. Bolan. 

It was nine o’clock when her mother came home 
laden with budgets, and Dan following in a vaguely 
frightened manner. He had been hanging about 
Mrs. MacBride’s, waiting for her. She had gone 
in and taken her “sup o’ gin,” and heard the 
news, also the complaints. 

“Whiniver did it happen, Dil.?” throwing down 
her budgets. “ She’s been no good to hersilf nor 
no wan else this long while. An’ she cudden’t 
iver git well, an’ was a sight o’ trouble. But I’m 
clear beat. Week after week I thought she’d be 
sure to go, but when you’re lookin’, the thing 
niver comes. An’ it’s took me so suddent like, 
that I had no breath left at all. Was it true — 
did ye find her dead, an’ faint clear away .? ” 


i68 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


She looked rather admiringly at Dil. 

Yes — she were cold,” said Dil briefly. “An’ 
then I don’t know what happened.” 

“ Ye pore colleen ! Ye’ll be better widout her, 
an’ ye’ll be gittin well an’ strong agin. It’s bin a 
hard thing, an’ yer divil of a father shud a had 
his own back broke. But he’s fast enough, and 
I hope they’ll kape him there. Any word of 
Owny ” 

“ No.” Oh, what would Owny say — an’ Patsey. 

“Who kem an’ streeked her ? Let’s see.” 

She took the lamp and went in. It seemed to 
Dil as if she would even now shake her fist at Bess, 
and the child stood with bated breath. 

“ She were a purty little thing, Dil,” the mother 
said with a softened inflection. “ Me sister Morna 
had yellow hair an’ purplish eyes, and was that 
fair an’ sweet, but timid like. I believe me 
mother had some such hair, but the rest of us 
had black. She looks raile purty, an’ makes a 
better corpse than I iver thought. Why didn’t 
ye lit thim see her, Dil Ye’s needn’t a been 
shamed of her.” 

Dil was saved from answering by the advent of 
a throng of neighbors. The room seemed so 
warm, and there was such a flurry, she dropped on 
the lounge faint and breathless. 

“ Go to bed, Dan,” said his mother. 


dilsey 169 

Dil rose again and opened the door. The cold 
air, close and vile as it was, felt grateful. 

“ Go up-stairs a bit in Mrs. Murphy’s ; ” and 
though the permission was a command, Dil went 
gratefully, 

Mrs. Murphy sat sewing to make up for lost 
time. Her little girl was asleep in the cradle. 
She had improved since cooler weather had set 
in. The door of one room was shut. The old 
chintz-covered Boston rocker was empty. 

I couldn’t stay to see them all lookin’ at her,” 
she exclaimed tremulously, as she almost tottered 
across the room. 

“ No, dear.” Mrs. Murphy took her in her 
arms. “Ye look like a ghost. But Bess is main 
pritty, an’ it’s a custom. Will ye sit here ? ” 

Dil shuddered as she looked at the empty chair 
where Mrs. Bolan used to sit. 

“ No ; I’ll take the stool. I just want to be a 
bit still like an’ think. I couldn’t talk ’bout /lery 
you know.” 

“ Yes, dear,” with kindly sympathy. 

Dil dropped on a box stool, leaning her folded 
arms on a chair. Mrs. Murphy took up her sew- 
ing again. She longed to comfort, but she was 
sore afraid the two lorn souls were wandering 
about purgatory. She had a little money of Mrs. 
Bolan’s that she meant to spend in masses. But 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


170 

who would pay for a mass for Bessy Quinn’s soul ? 
And she had never been baptized. The ignorant, 
kindly woman was sore distressed. 

Dil seemed to look through the floor and see 
the picture down-stairs. All her sense of posses- 
sion rose in bitter revolt. Yet now she was help- 
less to establish her supreme right. Her mother 
had grudged Bess the frail, feeble spark of life ; 
she alone had cared for her, loved her, protected 
her, and she was shut out, sent away. Now that 
Bess needed no care and lay there quiet, they 
could come and pity her. 

Presently more tranquil thoughts came. Even 
her mother could not do anything to hurt Bess. 
She was safe at last. 

There had been so much repression and self- 
control in Dil’s short life, that it made her seem 
apajthetic now. And yet, slowly as the poor pulses 
beat, there was a strange inward fire and stir, as 
if she must do something. A curious elusiveness 
shrouded the duty or work, and yet it kept hover- 
ing before her. Oh, what was it ? 

Did she fall asleep, and was it a vision, a vague 
remembrance of something she had heard Bess 
was not dead, but in a strange, strange sleep. 
Once there had been a little girl in just this sleep, 
and One had come — yes, she would get up — 
about midnight these strange charms worked. 


DILSEV 


i;i 

She would get up and go softly over to Bess. 
She would take the little hand in hers ; she would 
kiss the pale, still lips, and say, “ Bess, my dar- 
ling, wake up. I can’t live without you. You 
have had such a nice long rest. Open your eyes 
an’ look at me. Bess, dear, you remember we are 
to go to heaven in the spring. He will be wait- 
in’ for us, an’ wonderin’ why we don’t come. He 
is goin’ to fight the giants, to show us the way, 
an’ row us over the river to the pallis.” 

Then the eyes would open blue as the summer 
sky, the lips would smile, the little hands reach 
out and grow warm. There would be a strange 
quiver all through the body, and Bess would sit up 
and be alive once more. Oh, the glad cry of joy ! 
Oh, the wordless, exquisite rapture of that mo- 
ment ! And Bess, in some mysterious way, would 
be better, stronger, and the days would fly by 
until the blessed spring came. 

Mrs. Murphy touched her, and roused her from 
this trance of delight. She heard her mother’s 
voice and started. 

“ It’s a nice sleep ye’ve had,” said Mrs. Mur- 
phy’s kindly voice. “An’ it’s full bedtime, an’ 
past. They’ve all gone, an’ yer mother wants ye.” 

Dil groped her way down-stairs. There was a 
vicious smell of beer and kerosene-smoke in the 


warm room. 


172 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


‘‘ It’s time ye were in bed,” said her mother. 
“Ye kin sleep in there,” indicating her own room 
with a nod; “fer I’ll not sleep the night with me 
child lyin’ dead in the house. Bridget Malone 
has kem to stay wid me. We’ll jist sit up.” 

“ O mother,” cried Dil, aghast, “ let me sleep in 
my own room ! I’d rather be there with Bess.” 

“ Is the colleen’s head turned wid grafe ? 
Sleepin’ wid a corpse ! Who iver heerd of sich 
a thing ? Indade ye’ll not, miss ! Go to bed 
at wunst, an’ not a word outen you.” 

Her first impulse was to defy the woman loom- 
ing up so tall and authoritative. But the shrewd 
sense that comes early to the children of poverty 
restrained her. She would be worsted in the end, 
so she went reluctantly. Had she dreamed ? No, 
it must be true. She could waken Bess. Again 
the uplifting hope took possession of her. She 
seemed wafted away to a beautiful country with 
Bess. So absorbing was the vision that it filled 
her with a certainty beyond the faintest doubt. 
She did not even take off her dress, but lay there 
wide-eyed and rapturous. 

After a while the chatter ceased and the snor- 
ing began. How still it was everywhere ! But 
Dil was not afraid. 


IN THE DESERT ALONE 


173 


X 

IN THE DESERT ALONE 

Dilsey Quinn rose with a peculiar lightness of 
heart, and seemed walking on air. A curious 
tingle sped through her nerves, and her eyes had 
a strange light of their own. She pushed the 
door open and looked out cautiously. Her mother 
was on the lounge. Bridget sat by the stove, her 
chair tilted back against the door-jamb. The 
lamp had been turned down a little, the stove-lid 
lifted ; and it made a strange, soft semicircle on 
the ceiling, such as Dil had seen around the heads 
in pictures when she had stolen a glance at the 
show windows. 

The silence, for that impressed her, in spite of 
snoring in different keys, and the weird aspect, 
made the room instinct with supernatural life. 
Dil did not understand this, but she felt it, and 
was filled and possessed by that exaltation of 
mysterious faith. She walked softly but fear- 
lessly across the room, — if she could open the 
door without Bridget hearing. 


174 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


John Travis should have seen her at that mo- 
ment, with the unearthly radiance on her face, 
the uplifted confident eyes. 

Her small hand was on the knob. She opened 
the door — a moment more — 

Alas ! Bridget had an impression, and sprang 
up. Seeing the figure she uttered a wild shriek. 

“ A banshee ! A banshee ! ” she cried in a 
spasm of terror. 

Dil stood rooted to the spot. Mrs. Quinn 
sprang across the room. 

“ Hould yer murtherin’ tongue ! ” she cried. 
“ Why — it’s Dil,” seizing her by the shoulder. 

Whativer are ye doin’, walkin’ in yer slape an’ 
rousin’ the house An’ yer’ a fool, Bridget ! ” 

Bridget Malone stared at the small grayish 
figure, unconvinced. 

“ Wake up, ye omadhoun ! ” and the mother 
shook Dil fiercely. “Ye can’t do nothin’ fer the 
child. Let her rist in peace ; she’s better off nor 
she’s been this many a day.” 

“ O Mrs. Quinn, don’t be hard on the poor 
gurrul. She’s bin dreamin’ af the little wan, 
bein’ so used to tindin’ on her all hours af the 
night. But I thought sure it was Bess’s ghost, 
bein’ but half awake mesilf.” 

“ Wid no legs to walk on ! ” was the sarcastic 
rejoinder. 


IN THE DESERT ALONE 


175 


“ As af a ghost had need of legs ! An’ I won’t 
be sittin’ there by the dure ” — 

“ Git back to yer bed, Dil, an’ we won’t have 
no more sich capers in the dead 0’ night, frightin’ 
folks out of their sinsis.” 

She led Dil roughly back to her bed. Then 
for safe keeping she slipped the chair back just 
under the knob, and Dil was a prisoner in a black 
hole, a small improvement on that of Calcutta. 

A whirlwind of -passion swept over Dilsey 
Quinn — a pitiful, helpless passion. She could 
have screamed, she could have torn the bed- 
clothes to pieces, or stamped in that uncontrolla- 
ble rage and disappointment. But she knew her 
mother would beat her, and she was too sore and 
helpless to be banged about. 

Her mother would not let her bring Bess back 
to life if she knew. And she could not explain — 
there was nothing to be put in words. You just 
went and did it. Oh, it seemed as if something 
might have helped her, some great, strong power 
that made people rich and happy, and gave them 
so many lovely things. Bess was only such a 
little out of all the big world ! 

And now she would never, never come back. 
An awful, cold despair succeeded the passion. 
They could never go to heaven together. Bess 
was dead, just like Mrs. Bolan, like the people 


176 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


who died in the court. They would take her out 
and bury her. That was all ! 

An indescribable horror fell upon Dil. The 
horror of the solitude that comes of doubt and 
darkness, the ghost of that final solitude that 
seems watching at the gates of death. Bess had 
gone off, been swallowed up in it, and there was 
nothing, nothing ! 

The morning dawned at last. Dil, half-stifled 
with bad air, and racked with that fearful men- 
tal inquisition, collapsed. She seemed shrunken 
and old, as old as Mrs. Bolan. There was nothing- 
more for her. 

Bridget Malone was to stay. The two women 
had a cup of coffee together, then Mrs. Quinn 
went to see the ’Spensary doctor. When she came 
back they spread a sheet over the small table, 
and brought out the body of the dead child. 

“ Folks ’ll be cornin’ in to see it,” she said with 
some pride. An’ she looks that swate no one 
need be ashamed of her ! She’d been a purty girl 
but for the accidint, for that stopped her growin’. 
I’ve had a long siege wid her, the Lord knows ! 
An’ now I must run up to Studdemyer’s an’ tell 
’em of the sorrow an’ trouble, an’ mebbe I’ll get 
lave to do somethin’ to-morrow. But I’ll be back 
afore the men kim in.” 

Dil moved about silently, and went frequently 


IN THE DESERT ALONE 


177 


into her own room. The intense fervor and belief 
of the night had vanished. The court children 
straggled in and stared, half-afraid. The women 
said she was better off and out of her trouble ; 
and now and then one spoke of her being in 
heaven. 

She was not in heaven, Dil knew. And how 
could she be better off in the cold, hateful ground 
than in her warm, loving arms ? 

One gets strangely accustomed to the dear 
dead face. Dil paid it brief visits when no one 
else was by. A little change had come over it, — 
the inevitable change; but to Dil it seemed as if 
Bess was growing sorry that she had died ; that 
the little shrinking everywhere meant regret. 

Mrs. Quinn came back with a gift from her 
sympathetic customer, who imagined she had 
found heroic motherly devotion in this poor 
woman who had four children to care for. There 
were numberless visitors who gossiped and were 
treated to beer — there was quite a dinner, with an 
immense steak to grace the feast. 

Presently a man came in and took the measure 
of the body, and then went up-stairs. An hour 
later a wagon stopped before the court, and two 
men shouldered a coffin. The small one went into 
the Quinns’. It was of stained wood with a muslin 
lining, and the little body was laid in its narrow 


178 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


home. Then the attendant went up-stairs, and 
some of the women followed. There was a confu- 
sion of voices, then the two men came lumbering 
down the winding stairs with their load, slid it 
into the wagon, while a curious throng gathered 
round in spite of the chill blast. They came up 
again, one man with a screwdriver in his hand. 

Take a look at her, Dil. Poor dear, she’s gone 
to her long rest.” 

Mrs. Quinn pushed her forward. The women 
fell back a little. The man put down the coffin 
lid, — it was all in one piece, — and began to screw 
it down. 

Dil gave a wild shriek as it closed over the 
pretty golden head, and would have dropped to 
the floor, but some one caught her. The man 
completed his task, picked up the burthen, it 
was so light ; and when Dil came out of her faint 
Bess, with two other dead bodies, was being jolted 
over the stones to a pauper’s grave. 

“ Come now,” began Mrs. Quinn, it’s full 
time ye wer sensible. She’s dead, an’ it’s a 
blissid relase, an’ she’s got no more suf’frin’ to go 
tru wid. It’s bin a hard thrial, an’ she not able 
to take a step this four year. Ye’d better go to 
bed an’ rist, for ye look quare Tout the eyes. Ye 
kin have my bed if ye like.” 

Dil shook her head, and tottered to her own 


IN THE DESERT ALONE 


179 


little cot. “ O Bess ! Bess ! ” she cried in her 
heart, but her lips made no sound. How could 
people die who were not old nor sick For she 
wanted to die, but she did not know how. 

There were people around until after supper. 
Then two or three of them went down to Mrs. 
MacBride’s. Mrs. Murphy promised to stay with 
Dil. 

“Shure,” said some one, “there’ll be a third 
goin’ out prisintly. It’s bad luck when more than 
wan corpse goes over the trashold to wunst. An’ 
that Dil don’t look like long livin’. She’s jist 
worn hersilf out wid that other poor thing.” 

In the evening Patsey came rushing up-stairs 
with some Christmas for the two girls. He was 
shocked beyond measure. He hardly dared go in 
and see Dil, but she called him in a weak, sad 
tone. 

“ O Dil ! ” That was all he said for many min- 
utes, as he sat on the side of the cot, holding her 
hand. The strange look in her face awed him. 

“ Have ye seen Owny ? ” he whispered. 

“Not since the night mother beat him.” 

“Owny — he’s safe. He’ll do well. Don’t 
bodder yees poor head ’bout him. He’s keepin’ 
out o’ der way, ’cause he’s ’fraid de old woman’ll 
set de cop on him. He ain’t cornin’ back no 
more, but don’t you worry. But he’ll feel naw- 


i8o 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


ful ! O Dil, I never s’posed she’d go so soon, if 
she was ’pindlin’ an’ weakly. Seemed when she’d 
lived so long ” — 

Patsey broke down there. 

“O Patsey, I didn’t s’pose she could die, jes’ 
common dyin’ like other folks. They’ve taken 
her away an’ put her with dead people — I 
don’t know where. You’ll tell him. An’ — an’ 
mebbe ’twould be better if he didn’t come back. 
Mother’d beat him nawful, and ’pears ’s if I 
couldn’t see any more beatin’s. Don’t tell me 
an’ then I won’t know. But you’ll see an’ keep 
him safe.” 

“Poor Dil! I’m jist as sorry’s I kin hold. I 
loved you an’ Bess, for I didn’t never hev any 
folks,” said the boy brokenly. 

“ An’, Patsey, d’ye mind the wild roses ye 
brought in the summer } They was so sweet. 
She ’mdst went crazy over ’em • with pure joy. 
An’ that night she talked of thim, an’ smelled 
thim, an’ it was a bad sign. If I’d knowed, I 
might a done somethin’, or had the doctor. An’ 
she talked so beautiful ” — 

Dil was. choked with sobs. 

“Ye did iverything. Ye were like an angel. 
She wouldn’t a lived half so long, but for yous. 
O Dil, I wisht I could bring her back. There 
was a boy tollin’ ’bout some one — he heerd it at 


IN THE DESERT ALONE l8l 

the Mission School — that jist took a man outen 
his coffin, an’ made him alive. I’ll ask him how 
it was, an’ tell yous.” 

“ Ye’s so good, Patsey,” with a weary sigh. 

‘‘ An’ I’ll be droppin’ in an’ bring ye news. 
An’ ye mustn’t git sick, fer whin spring opens 
we’ll spring a trap that’ll s’prise ye. O Dil 
dear ! ” 

He bent over and kissed her, his face all wet 
with tears. He had often kissed little Bess, 
though he was not “ soft on gals.” It was a 
solemn caress. Dil seemed so far away, as if he 
might lose her too. 

The next morning the Christmas chimes rang 
out, and there were houses full of happy children 
making merry over Christmas gifts. The mission 
schools were crowded, the Christmas-trees and the 
feasts thronged. There were hundreds of poor 
children made happy, even if they could not take 
in the grand truth that eighteen hundred years 
ago a Saviour had been born to redeem the world. 
“Why is it not redeemed.^” cried the cavillers, 
looking on. “ If the truth is powerful, why has it 
not prevailed ? ” But the children amid their 
pleasures asked no questions. 

Churches were full of melody, homes were full 
of joy and gladness, the streets in a tumult of 
delight ; but Bessy Quinn was in her small grave, 
and Dil bitterly alone. 


i 82 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


John Travis thought of them both this morn- 
ing. I hope Miss Nevins has planned a nice 
Christmas for them,” he said to himself, since his 
Christmas in a foreign land was not as hopeful as 
he could wish. Perhaps Miss Nevins had found 
a way to Mrs. Quinn’s heart. Women could 
sometimes do better than men. 

Dilsey Quinn could not die ; and if she was 
miserable and forlorn she had not the morbid 
brain to consider suicide, though she knew people 
had killed themselves. But the utter dreariness 
of the poor child’s soul was overwhelming. 

Still, she rose on Monday morning, did her 
work, and cared for the babies as usual. It 
seemed so* cruelly lonesome with only her and 
Dan. Mrs. Murphy was very good to her, and 
begged her to go to the priest ; but she listened in 
a weary, indifferent manner. If Bess was in pur- 
gatory, then she would like to go too. But in her 
heart she knew Bess wasn’t. She was just dead, 
and couldn’t be anywhere but in the ground. 

She had never known any joyous animal life. 
Hers had been all work and loving service. 
There was nothing to buoy her up now, nothing 
to which she could look forward.. She was too 
old, too experienced, to be a child, to share a 
child’s trivial joys. 

Her mother questioned her closely about Owen. 


IN THE DESERT ALONE I83 

Hadn’t he never sneaked in for some clothes ? 
Didn’t Patsey know where he was ? 

“ I’ll ast him if he comes agen,” she said, as 
if even Owen was of no moment to her. He 
hasn’t been here sence — sence that night.” 

“ Ye’s not half-witted, Dil Quinn, an’ you grow 
stupider every day ! Sometime I’ll knock light- 
nin’’outen yer ! An’ if ye dast to keep it from 
me that he kern’d home. I’d break yer neck, yer 
sassy trollope. He’ll be saunterin’ in some night, 
full o’ rags, an’ no place to go, an’ there be a 
pairty, now, I tell ye ! ” 

But Owny knew when he was well off. Dan 
went to school regularly, and was much improved. 

After the holidays the winter was hard. Work 
fell off, and babies were slow coming in. Mrs. 
Murphy’s little one took a severe cold, and was 
carried off with the croup. She gave up her 
rooms and went out to service. So poor Dil lost 
another friend. 

One Sunday during the latter part of January, 
Dil summoned up pluck enough to go out for a 
walk. There had been three or four lovely days 
that suggested spring, bland airs and sunshine, 
and the indescribable thrill in the air that stirs 
with sudden longing. 

Dil wandered over to Madison Square. Some 
one had given her mother a good warm cloak, 


184 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


quite modern. How Bess would have enjoyed 
seeing her dressed in it ! But though the sun 
shone so gloriously, she was cold in body and soul, 
as if she could never be warm again. The leafless 
branches were full of swallows chirping, but the 
flowers were gone, the fountain silent. No one 
noted the solitary little figure sitting just where 
she had sat that happy afternoon. 

“Oh,” she cried softly, while her heart swelled 
to breaking, and her eyes wandered southward, 
“do you know that Bess is dead, an’ we can’t 
never go to heaven together as we planned .«* I 
d’know’s I want to now. I jes’ want to die an’ be 
put in the ground. I wisht I could be laid ’long- 
side of her, an’ I’d stretch out my arms, an’ she’d 
come creepin’ to them, jes’ as she used. She’d 
know how to find me. An’ when you come back 
you can’t see her no more. Oh, ’f we only could 
’a’ started that day ! An’ mammy bu-rned up 
Christiana an’ my beautiful picture, so I’m all 
alone. There ain’t nothin’ left,” and she sighed 
drearily. 

Where was he ? “ ’Crost the ’Lantic Oshin,” as 

Bess had said. She had no more idea of the 
Atlantic Ocean than she had of the location of 
heaven ; not as much, for it seemed as if heaven 
might be over beyond the setting sun. But John 
Travis was still in the world. And as she sat 


IN THE DESERT ALONE 


185 


there it seemed as if she must live to tell him 
about Bess, and an aim brightened her dreary life. 
Two months and a little more. She would come 
over often when the weather grew pleasanter. 
Already she began to feel better. 

But she could not take the heartfelt glow back to 
Barker’s Court. The loneliness settled down like 
a pall. The long, long evenings were intolerable. 
Sometimes she crept down and spent an hour 
with Mrs. Minch ; but she was afraid her mother 
might come home inopportunely. 

Mrs. Quinn was growing much worse in her 
habits ; and she lost her best place, which did not 
improve her temper. Dil’s apathetic manner an- 
gered her as well ; yet the house was kept cleaner 
than ever, her mother’s clothes were always in 
order, and there was nothing to find fault about, 
except the lack of babies, which Dil could not 
help. 

One night in February there was quite a carouse 
at Mrs. MacBride’s. It was midnight when Mrs. 
Quian returned. Poor Dil should have been in 
bed, out of harm’s way ; but she had been living 
over that fateful night, believing with the purest 
and most passionate fervor that she might have 
called Bess back to life if she could have gone to 
her. 

A man helped Mrs. Quinn up the stairs, and 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


1 86 

tumbled her in the door. Dil sprang up in af- 
fright. 

Mrs. Quinn stared at Dil with bleared eyes. 

“What yer doin’ up this time o’ night ^ Yees 
do be enough to set wan crazy wid yer mewlin’, 
pinched-up mug that’s humbly as a stun! Why 
d’n’ ye laugh an’ hev a good time, an’ make the 
house decent, stead er like a grave ? I’m not goin’ 
to Stan’ it — d’y hear ? ” 

Dil glanced about in alarm, and would have fled 
to her room, but her mother caught her by the 
arm. 

“ Come,” she cried, “ I’ll shake the glumness 
outen yer. Why, ye’d spile vinegar even I I’ll 
tache ye a little friskiness.” 

Dil struggled to free herself, but uttered no 
word. 

“I’ll tache ye!” she shouted, the devil put into 
her by rum driving her to fury. “Ye measlin’, 
grouty little thing ! forever moanin’ an’ cryin’ fer 
the sickly brat that’s gone, good riddance to her ! 
Come, now, step up lively. We’ll make a night of 
it, an’ ye shall hev a sup o’ gin to wet yer t’roat 
whin ye get warm.” 

She whirled Dil about savagely, until she was 
dizzy and faint, and broke away in desperation. 
But her mother clutched her again, and gave her 
a resounding box on the ear. She managed, as 


IN THE DESERT ALONE 


187 


she was whirled round, to open the door into the 
hall, and scream with all the strength she could 
summon. Her mother seized her again with a 
dreadful imprecation. What happened, how it 
happened in the dark, Dil could never clearly 
remember. 

Fred Minch sprang up and opened the door. 
Something bumped down the stairs, and lay in a 
heap at his feet. 

“ It’s that poor little girl, mother. She’s bleed- 
ing, killed maybe.. I’ll run for a policeman.” 

Mrs. Minch picked up the senseless child. 
Mrs. Quinn went on yelling, swearing, smashing 
things, and dancing like a mad woman. 

Rows were no uncommon thing in the court. 
Windows were thrown up. Who was it ? Some 
wretched wife being beaten ? And when they 
found it was Mrs. Quinn, they shook their heads. 
She had been going to the dogs of late, it was 
plain to see. 

When the officer came, she made such a vigor- 
ous onslaught that he was forced to call assist- 
ance. She was after Owen now, and Dil had 
hidden him. The threats she uttered were enough 
to make one shudder. They mastered her at 
length, and dragged her down-stairs, where Mrs. 
Minch was waiting to explain poor Dil’s plight. 

She was still unconscious when the ambulance 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


1 88 

came. There was a bad cut up in the edge of 
her hair, but no bones seemed to be broken that 
any one could discover. 

“Poor child ! ” said Mrs. Minch, when quiet was 
restored. “ It would be a blessing if she could 
go with Bess. She’ll never get over the loss. 
She’s not been the same since, and many a day 
my heart’s ached for her.” 

“ She were a nice smart woman, that Mrs. 
Quinn, if she’d a let rum alone,” was the general 
verdict. “ An’ though she took the child’s death 
in a sensible manner, it broke her all up,” said 
some of the court people, “ and she went to hard 
drinking at once.” 

When Mrs. Quinn’s trial came on, Dil’s life was 
still hanging in a doubtful balance. She was sent 
to the Island for ninety days, for drunkenness and 
assaulting the policeman, and would there await 
the final result. 

But Mrs. MacBride went on adding to her bank 
account and her real estate, to the wreck of youth 
and womanhood, to the prisons and paupers’ 
graves. She kept such a very respectable place, 
the law never meddled with her. 

Dilsey Quinn lay on her hospital pallet delirious, 
but never violent, and lapsing into unconscious- 
ness. She had a dislocated shoulder, two broken 
ribs, and sundry bruises ; but it was the years of 


IN THE DESERT ALONE 


189 


hard work, foul air, dark rooms, and unsanitary 
conditions that the doctors had to fight against 
blindly. Her bruised and swollen face, her 
stubby, red-brown hair that had been cut short, 
her wide mouth and short nose, made no appeal in 
the name of beauty. She was merely a “ case.” 

Her nurse was a youngish, kindly woman, used 
to such incidents. Beaten wives and children 
were often sent to her ward. In the early part of 
her experience she had suffered with them. Now 
she had grown — not unsympathetic, but wiser ; 
tender she would always be. 

Now and then there was something so wistful 
in the child’s eyes that it touched her heart. She 
lay so patient and uncomplaining, she made so 
little trouble. 

But sometimes the woman wondered why they 
were brought into the world to suffer, starve, and 
die. What wise purpose was served ? 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


196 


XI 

WHEN HE AND SUMMER COMES 

One morning Dilsey Quinn looked slowly and 
curiously around the ward, and then asked the 
nurse how she came there. 

She lay a long while, piecing out the story, re- 
membering what was back of it. 

As you did not die, your mother will come 
out of the Island early in June. I suppose it was 
a sort of accident. Was she used to beating 
you ? ” 

A flush went over the pallid face. 

“No,” she replied quietly. 

“ Do you want to go back to her } ” 

“ O, no, no ! ” with a note of terror in the 
voice. “ I couldn’t live with her no more.” 

“ Have you any friends } ” 

There was a hesitating look, but the child did 
not answer. Had she any friend.? Yes, Patsey. 

“ How would you like to go to some of the 
Homes.? You would be well treated and taught 
some trade,” the nurse ventured kindly. 


WHEN HE AND SUMMER COMES IQI 

*‘I can work for myself,” returned Dil, with 
quiet decision. “ I can keep house, an’ tend 
babies, an’ wash an’ iron.” 

“ Would you like a nice place in the country ? ” 
I want to stay in the city,” she said slowly. 
“ There’s some one I want to see. It’s ’bout my 
little sister that’s dead. I can soon get some 
work.” 

“ How old are you } ” 

“ I shall be fifteen long in the summer, a spell 
after Fourth of July.” 

“ You are very small. Are you quite sure ? ” 

“ Oh, yes. Why, you see, I was fourteen last 
summer. Jack was next to me. Then Bess. 
She was ’leven, but she hadn’t grown any ’cause 
she was hurted.” 

‘‘ Hurt How ” the nurse asked with inter- 
est. The children told their stories so simply. 

“Along o’ father’s bein’ nawful drunk an’ 
slammin’ her agin the wall. He went to prison 
’cause he most killed a man. Bess died just 
before Christmas. We was goin’ ” — 

Dil paused. Would nurse know anything about 
a journey to heaven ? 

“ Were you going to run away ? But if the 
poor little girl was hurt, she is better off. God is 
taking care of her in heaven.” 

“Oh, no. She isn’t there. She’s just dead. 


192 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


We was goin’ together in the spring, and — and 
some one was going with us who knew all ’bout 
the way.” 

‘‘My child, what do you know about heaven ” 
asked the nurse, struck by the confident tone. 

“ I didn’t know — much. I heard ’bout it at the 
Mission School, and told Bess. We wanted to go 
like Christiana. We met a man in the square 
last summer, an’ he told us ’bout his Lord Jesus, 
that he could cure little hurted legs that hadn’t 
ever grown any and couldn’t walk. An’ he prom- 
ised to go to heaven with us. We was goin’ to 
start then, but we didn’t just know the way. I’d 
learned ’bout the river in the Mission School. 
An’ he said he’d bring us the book ’bout Chris- 
tiana, an’ then we’d know ; but we better wait, 
for it would be so cold before we got there, an’ 
the cold shrivelled up poor little Bess so. Well, 
we waited an’ waited, but he did come, an’ he 
brought the book. It was so lovely.” Dil gave a 
long, rapturous sigh, and a glory shone in her 
eyes. “ An’ we found out ’bout crossin’ the river 
an’ the pallis. We see her goin’ up the steps. 
An’ then mammy took the book an’ burnt it up 
in a tantrum, an we couldn’t read it any more, 
but we’d got the pictures all fixed in our minds. 
Curis, isn’t it, how you can see things that ain’t 
there, when you’ve got thim all fixed in your 
mind?” 


WHEN HE AND SUMMER COMES I93 

‘‘ And you were going to heaven ? ” Nurse was 
amazed at the great, if misplaced, faith. “And 
your friend ” — 

The soft, suggestive voice won Dil to further 
confidence. 

“He had to go ’way crost the ’Lantic Oshin. 
But he would have come back. He did just what 
he told you, always. An’ that’s why I must get 
well an’ go back an’ see him an’ tell him ” — 

The voice faltered, and the eyes overflowed with 
tears. Dil’s hearer was greatly moved. 

“ Bess has gone to heaven first, my poor dear,” 
but her own voice was tremulous with emotion. 

“ Oh, she couldn’t. Why, she couldn’t walk, with 
her poor hurted legs, ’n’ ’twas so cold ’n’ all. An’ 
she wouldn’t ’a’ gone to the very best heaven, 
not even the pallis shinin’ with angels, athout 
me.” 

“But you don’t understand” — -how should she 
explain to the literal understanding. “ The Lord 
came for her, took her in his arms, and carried her 
to heaven.” 

“ Oh, he wouldn’t ’a’ taken her athout sayin’ a 
word, and leaved me behind, ’cause he must ’a’ 
knowed we was plannin’ to go together. No ; 
she’s just dead like other folks. An’ he can’t see 
her when he comes.” 

There was a long, dreary, tearless sob. 


194 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


“ Oh, my poor child, she is safe with the Lord. 
Do you really know who God is } ” 

“Mr. Travis’s Lord Jesus lives in heaven,” said 
Dil, in a kind of weary, half-puzzled tone. “ He 
told us how he come down to some place, I disre- 
member now, an’ cured hurted people, an’ made 
blind folks see, an’ fed the hungry, an’ went back 
an’ fixed a beautiful pallis for them. There’s lots 
more in Barker’s Court that they swear by, but 
them ain’t the ones Mr. Travis meant.” 

The nurse was as much astonished by the confi- 
dent ignorance as Mr. Travis had been, and felt 
quite as helpless. 

“ I wish you could believe that little Bess is in 
heaven,” she said gently. 

“She couldn’t be happy athout me,” the poor 
child replied confidently, with tears in her falter- 
ing voice. “ I always tended her, an’ curled her 
hair, an’ wheeled her about, an’ — an’ loved her 
so.” The tone sank to a touching pathos. “An’ 
she didn’t go crost no river — she couldn’t stand 
up ’thout bein’ held. An’ oh, do you s’pose I’d 
gone an’ left Bess for anything No more would 
she gone an’ left me.” 

The brown eyes were heart-breaking in their 
trustful simplicity. The child’s confidence was 
beyond any stage of persuasion. With time one 
might unravel the tangle in her untutored brain, 


WHEN HE AND SUMMER COMES I95 

but she could not in the brief while the child 
would remain in the hospital. 

'‘Tell me about your friend, Mr. Travis,” the 
nurse said, after a silence of some moments. 

“He painted pictures, an’ he made a beauti- 
.ful one of Bess. But mammy burned it with the 
book. She said there wasn’t any heaven anyway. 
An’ Mrs. Murphy said it was purgatory, ’n’ if you 
paid money, you’d get out. But Bess would go 
there. An’ he didn’t say nothin’ ’bout purgatory. 
He come one day an’ sang the beautifullest hymn 
’bout ‘ everlastin’ spring,’ an’ everybody cried. 
Poor old Mrs. Bolan was there. But when he 
comes back he’ll tell me just how it is.” 

Perhaps that was best. Nurse went about her 
duties, the strange, sweet, entire faith haunting 
her. And the pathos of the two setting out for 
a literal heaven ! 

There were days when Dil sat in a vague, ab- 
sent mood, her eyes staring into vacancy, seeming 
to hear nothing that went on about her. But she 
improved slowly ; and though the nurse tried to 
persuade her to go to some friends of hers, she 
found the child wonderfully resolute. 

And yet, when she was discharged, an awful 
sense of loneliness came over Dilsey Quinn. The 
nurse gave her a dollar, and an address to which 
she was to apply in case of any misfortune. 


196 - 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


“You’ve been so good,” Dil said, with swim- 
ming eyes. “An’ I’ll promise if I don’t get no 
place.” 

And now she must find John Travis. He 
would surely know if Bess could get to heaven 
in any strange way, alone in the night. And if 
she was there, then Dil must go straightway. She 
could not even lose a day. 

The world looked curious to her this April day. 
There were golden quivers in the sunshine, and a 
laughing blueness in the sky. And oh, such a 
lovely, fragrant air ! Dil felt as if she could skip 
for very joy. 

She found her way to the square, and sat down 
on the olden seat. Already some flowers were 
out, and the grass was green. The “ cop ” came 
around presently, but she was not afraid of him 
now. She rose and spoke to him, recalling the 
summer afternoon and the man who had made 
pictures of herself and Bess. 

“ I don’t know who he was. No, he hasn’t 
been back to inquire.” The policeman would not 
have known Dil. 

“ His name was Mr. John Travis. He writ it on 
Bess’s picture. I was so ’fraid I’d miss him. But 
he will come, ’cause he can’t find no one in Bar- 
ker’s Court. An’ when I get a place. I’ll come 
an’ bring the number, so’s you can tell him.” 


WHEN HE AND SUMMER COMES IQ/ 

“Yes, ril be on the lookout for him.” The 
child’s grave, innocent faith touched him. How 
pale and thin she was ! 

Then she considered. Mrs. Minch would be in 
the court, she thought. Perhaps she might steal 
in without any one seeing her who would tell her 
mother afterward. And she could hear about 
Dan. 

She stopped at a baker’s, and bought some 
lunch. But by and by she began to grow very 
tired, and walked slowly, looking furtively about. 
She was almost at Barker’s Court when a familiar 
whistle startled her. 

“O Dil Quinn, Dil ! ” cried a dear, well re- 
membered voice. 

Patsey Muldoon caught her hand as if he would 
never let it go. He had half a mind to kiss her 
in the street, he was that glad. His eyes danced 
with joy. 

“ I’ve been layin’ out fer ye, Dil, bangin’ round 
an’ waitin’. I was dead sure yous’d come back 
here. An’ I’ve slipped in Misses Minch’s, an’ 
jes’ asked ’bout the old gal, an’ I told her ’f you 
come, jes’ to hold on t’ye.” 

“ O Patsey ! ” 

“ How nawful thin ye air, Dil. Have ye got 
railly well ? ” 

Dil swallowed over a great lump in her throat. 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


198 

and had much ado not to cry, as she said, “ I’m 
not so strong.” 

“ Well, we want ye, we jes ’do,” and he laughed. 

“ What for ? ” It was so good to have any one 
want her in this desolation, that she drew nearer, 
and he put her hand in his arm in a very protect- 
ing fashion. 

“ Well, I’ll tell ye. See, now, we was boardin’ 
with an old woman. There was five of us, but 
Fin, he waltzed off. The old woman died suddint 
like three weeks ago, an’ we’ve bin keepin’ house 
sence. The lan’lord he come round, ’n’ we prom- 
ised the rent every Monday, sure pop; an’ we paid 
it too,” proudly. “ We’ve got Owny. I’ve had 
to thrash him twict, but he’s doin’ fus’rate now. 
An’ he sed, if we could git a holt o’ yous ! He 
said ye made sech lickin’ good stews ’n’ coffee 
’twould make a feller sing in his sleep.” 

“ O Patsey, you alwers was so good ! ” Dil 
wiped her eyes. This unlooked-for haven was 
delightful beyond any words. 

“ ’Twas norful quair I sh’d meet you, wasn’t it .? 
An’ we jes’ won’t let any one in de court know it, 
’n’ they can’t blow on us. The ould woman’s up 
on de Island, but her time’ll soon be out. Dan, 
he’s gone to some ’stution. We’ll keep shet o’ 
her. She’s a peeler, she is ! Most up to the boss 
in a shindy, now, wasn’t she } But when dey be- 


WHEN HE AND SUMMER COMES 


99 


gins to go to de Island, de way gits aisy fer ’em, 
an’ dey keep de road hot trottin’ over it.” 

Dil sighed, and shuddered too. We suppose 
the conscious tie of nature begets love, but it had 
not in Dil’s case. And she had a curious feeling 
that she should drop dead if her mother should 
clutch her. 

“ I don’t want to see her, Patsey, never agen. 
Poor Bess is gone ” — 

“ Jes’ don’t you mind. My eyes is peeled fer 
de old woman ! An’ where I’m goin’ to take 
you’s so far off. But we’ll jes’ go an’ hev some 
grub. We’ll take de car. I’m out ’n a lark, I 
am ! ” 

Patsey laughed, a wholesome, inspiriting sound. 
Dil was very, very tired, and it was so good to sit 
down. She felt so grateful, so befriended, so at 
rest, as if her anxieties had suddenly ended. 

It was indeed a long distance, — a part of the 
city Dil knew nothing about, — across town and 
down town, in the old part, given over to business 
and the commonest of living. A few blocks after 
they left the car they came to a restaurant, and 
Patsey ordered some clam-chowder. It tasted so 
good to the poor little girl, and was so warming, 
that her cheeks flushed a trifle. 

Patsey amused her with their ups and downs, 
the scrapes Qwny had been in, and some of his 


200 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


virtues as well. Patsey might have adorned some 
other walk in life, from the possibilities of fairness 
and justice in his character. 

Dil began to feel as if she belonged to the old 
life again. Her hospital experience, with the 
large, clean rooms, the neatness, the flowers, the 
visitors, and her kindly nurse, seemed something 
altogether outside of her own life. 

They trudged along, and stopped at the end of 
a row of old-fashioned brick houses, two stories, 
with dormer windows. A wide alley-way went up 
by the last one. There was a building in the 
rear that had once been a shop, but now housed 
four families. Up-stairs lived some Polish tailors ; 
at the lower end, a youngish married couple. 

It was quite dusk now, but a lamp was lighted 
in the room. Two fellows were skylarking, but 
they stopped suddenly at the unusual sight of a 
“gal.” 

“ Why it ain’t never Dil ! ” 

Owny was an immense exclamation point in 
supreme amazement. 

“ Didn’t I tell yous ! I was a-layin’ fer her. 
An’ she’s jes’ come out o’ the ’ospital.” 

“ Dil, you look nawful white.” 

“We’ll make her hev red cheeks in a little, 
jes’ you wait. This feller’s Tom Dillon.” 

Dilsey took a survey of her new home, and for 


WHEN HE AND SUMMER COMES 


201 


the first moment her heart failed her. It looked 
so dreadfully dirty and untidy. The room was 
quite large, with an old lounge, a kitchen table, 
a trunk, and some chairs ; a stove in the fire- 
place, and a cupboard with the door swinging 
open, but the dishes seemed to be mostly on the 
table. 

“We sleep here,” explained Patsey, ushering 
her into the adjoining apartment. There was an 
iron bedstead in the centre of the room, and four 
bunks in two stories ranged against the side. 
“Ye see, we ain’t much at housekeepin’, but 
youse c’n soon git things straight,” and Patsey 
laughed to hide a certain shame and embarras.s- 
ment. “ We’ll clean house to-morrer, an’ hev 
things shinin’. An’ here’s a place ” — 

It was a little corner taken off the other room, 
and partly shut in by the closet. “ Th’ ould 
woman used to sleep here — say, Dil, yous would- 
n’t be afraid — tell ye, a feller offered me a lot o’ 
paper — wall paper, an’ we’ll make it purty as a 
pink.” 

Dil had never seen “th’ ould woman,” and had 
no fear of her. 

“ It’ll be nice when we get it fixed,” she said 
cheerily. 

Then Sandy Fossett came in, and was “ intro- 
juced.” He, too, had heard the fame of the ‘lickin’ 


202 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


good stews/ but he was surprised to find such a 
very little body. 

Dil lay on the lounge that night, but did not 
sleep much, it was all so strange. Any other 
body would have felt disheartened in the morning, 
but Patsey was “so good.” He “hustled” the 
few things out of the little room, asked the woman 
in the other part about making paste, and ran off 
for his paper. Dil found a scrubbing-brush, and 
had the closet partly cleaned when he returned. 
Mrs. Brian came in and “ gave them a hand.” 
She was a short, stout, cheery body, with just 
enough Irish to take warmly to Dil. 

If the poor child had small aptitude for book- 
learning, she had the wonderful art of housekeep- 
ing at her very finger ends. In a week the boys 
hardly knew the place. Dil’s little room was 
really pretty, with its paper of grasses and field 
flowers on the lightest gray ground. She scalded 
and scrubbed her cot, and drove out any ghost 
that might have lingered about ; she made a new 
“ bureau ” out of grocery boxes, not that she had 
any clothes at present, but she might have. She 
was so thankful for a home that work was a pleas- 
ure to her, though she did get very, very tired, 
and a pain would settle in the place where the 
ribs were broken. 

The living room took on a delightful aspect. 


WHEN HE AND SUMMER COMES 203 

The chairs were scrubbed and painted, the table 
was cleaned up and covered with enamelled cloth. 
And such coffee as Dil made ; such stews of meat 
and potatoes and onions, and a carrot or a bit of 
parsley ; and oh, such soups and chowders ! When 
she made griddlecakes the boys went out and 
stood on their heads — there was no other way to 
express their delight. Fin came back in a jiffy, 
and another lad, named Shorty by his peers. In- 
deed, there could have been ten if there had been 
room. 

Owen was very much improved. He was shoot- 
ing up into a tall boy, and had his mother’s black 
eyes and fresh complexion. When the two boys 
talked about Bess, Dil could almost imagine her 
coming back. She sometimes tried to make be- 
lieve that little Bess had gone to the hospital to 
get her poor hurted legs mended, and would 
surely return to them. 

There was quite a pretty yard between the two 
houses. It really belonged to the “front ” people. 
There was a grass-plot and some flowers, and 
an old honeysuckle climbing the porch. The air 
was much better than in Barker’s Court, and alto- 
gether it was a more humanizing kind of living. 
And though the people up-stairs ran a sewing- 
machine in the evening, there were no rows. Mr. 
Brian did some kind of work on the docks, and 


204 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


went away early, coming back at half-past six or 
so. He was a nice, steady sort of fellow ; and 
though he had protested vigorously against a 
“raft of boys” keeping house, after Dil came 
he was very friendly. 

Patsey also “laid out ” for Mrs. Quinn. When 
she came down from the “ Island,” she heard that 
her furniture had been set in the street, and then 
taken in by some of the neighbors. Dan was in 
a Home, Owen had not been seen, neither had 
Dilsey. Then the woman drank again and raged 
round like a tiger, was arrested, but pleaded so 
hard, and promised amendment so earnestly, that 
sentence was suspended. 

It was well that Owen and Dilsey kept out of 
her way, for if she had found either of them she 
would have wreaked a full measure of vengeance 
upon them. There had never been a great deal 
of tenderness in her nature, and her experiences 
of the last ten years had not only hardened but 
brutalized her. The habit of steady drinking had 
blunted her natural feelings more than occasional 
outbreaks with weeks of soberness. She had no 
belief in a future state and no regard for it. Still, 
she had not reached that last stage of demoraliza- 
tion — she was willing to work; and when she had 
money to spend, Mrs. MacBride made her welcome 
again. 


WHEN HE AND SUMMER COMES 20 $ 

After Dil had her house a little in order, and 
had made herself a new gingham gown, she took 
her way one lovely afternoon over to Madison 
Square. She had meant to tell Patsey about 
John Travis, but an inexplicable feeling held her 
back. How she was coming to reach after higher 
things, or that they were really higher, she did 
not understand. Heaven was still a great mys- 
tery to her. With the boys Bess was simply dead, 
gone out of life, and sometime everybody seemed 
to go out of life. Why they did was the inscru- 
table mystery ? 

It was curious, but now she had no desire to 
finish Christiana, although she devoted some time 
every day to reading. The old things that had 
been such a pleasure seemed sacred to Bess, laid 
away, awaiting a mysterious solution. For she 
Jtnew John Travis could tell her all about it. 

Patsey had written her name and address on a 
slip of paper, several of them indeed, so as not to 
raise any suspicion. He laughed, and said she 
'‘was very toney, wantin’ kerds.” She saw the 
policeman, and was relieved that she had not 
missed Travis, yet strangely disappointed that he 
had not come. 

The boys just adored her, and certainly they 
were a jolly lot. Sometimes they had streaks of 
luck, at others they were hard up. But every 


2o6 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


Saturday night the rent money was counted out 
to make sure, and the agent was soon greatly in- 
terested in her. She was a wonderful little mar* 
ket-woman, and she found so much entertainment 
going out to do errands. She used to linger about 
the flower stands, and thrill with 'emotions that 
seemed strange indeed to her. She took great 
pleasure in watching the little flower bed a thin, 
delicate looking woman used to tend, that be- 
longed to the front house. 

One day Patsey brought her home a rose. 

“Oh,” she cried, “if Bess was only here to 
see!” and tears overflowed her eyes. “O Pat- 
sey, do you mind them wild roses the lady gev 
you an’ you brought to us ? They’re always 
keepin’ in my mind with Bess.” 

“ I wisht I knew where they growed. I’d go fer 
some. But ain’t this a stunner 

“It’s ’jes splendid, an’ you’re so good, Patsey.” 

“ I wisht yer cheeks cud be red as that,” the 
boy said earnestly. 

Mrs. Brian went out now and then to do a bit 
of washing, “ unbeknownst to her man,” who 
thought he earned enough for both of them. She 
came and sat on the little stoop with Dil occa- 
sionally, and had a “bit of a talk.” Patsey had 
advised that she should let folks think both her 
parents were dead — he had said so in the first 


WHEN HE AND SUMMER COMES 20/ 

instance to make her coming with them seem 
reasonable. 

But one day she told Mrs. Brian about little 
Bess, “ who was hurted by a bad fall, and died last 
winter.” Then she ventured on a wonder about 
heaven, hoping for some tangible explanation. 

‘‘ I s’pose it’s a good thing to go to heaven when 
you’re sick, or old an’ all tired out, but I ain’t in 
any hurry. I want a good bit o’ fun an’ pleasure 
first. My man sez if you’re honest an’ do the fair 
thing, it’s as good a religion as he wants, an’ he’ll 
trust it to take any one there. My ’pinion is that 
some of them that talks about it don’t appear to 
know, when you pin ’em down to the pint. My 
man thinks most everybody who ain’t awful 
bad’ 11 go. There’s some folks so dreadful you 
know, that the devil really ought to have ’em for 
firewood.” 

No one seemed in any hurry to go. It was a 
great mystery to Dil. And now Barker’s Court 
seemed as if it must have been the City of De- 
struction. If only her mother had been like 
Christiana! It was all such a puzzle. She was 
so lonely, and longed for some satisfying comfort. 

The weather was so lovely again. Ah I if Bess 
had not died, they would have started by them- 
selves, she felt quite sure. And as the days 
passed with no John Travis, Dil sometimes grew 


208 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


cold and sick at heart. In spite of the boys’ mer- 
riment and kindliness, she could not get down to 
the real hold on life. It seemed to her as if she 
was wandering off in some strange land, when she 
used to sit alone and wonder ; it could hardly be 
called thinking, it was so intangible. 


THE RESPONSE OF PINING EYES 


209 


XII 

THE RESPONSE OF PINING EYES 

The boys chipped in one evening and took Dil 
to the theatre. They were fond of the rather 
coarse fun and stage heroics. Dil was simply 
bewildered with the lights, the blare of the second- 
rate orchestra, and the crowds of people. She 
was a little afraid too. What if they should meet 
some one who knew her mother ? 

A curious thought came to her unappeased soul. 
Some one was singing a song, one of the rather 
pathetic ballads just then a favorite. She did 
not see the stage nor the young man, but like a 
distinct vision the little room in Barker’s Court 
was before her eyes. Bess in her old wagon, Mrs. 
Murphy with her baby in her arms, old Mrs. Bo- 
lan, and the group of listening women. The won- 
derful rapture in Bess’s face was distinct. It was 
the sweet old hymn that she was listening to, the 
voice that stilled her longing soul, that filled her 
with content unutterable. 

There was a round of applause that brought her 


210 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


back to the present life. They were rather noisy 
here. She liked the dreamland best. 

^‘That takes the cake jist!” declared Patsey, 
looking down in the bewildered face. “What’s 
the matter.? Youse look nawful pale!” 

“ My head aches,” she said. “ It’s so warm 
here. And it’s all very nice, but will it be over 
soon, Patsey .? ” 

The boy was disappointed ; but the next morn- 
ing Dil evinced such a cordial interest in all the 
points that had amused them, that Patsey decided 
that it must have been the headache, and not lack 
of appreciation. 

But he hung around after the others were gone, 
with a curious sense of responsibility. 

“Youse don’t git reel well any more, Dil,” he 
said, his voice full of solicitude. . “ Kin I do 

anythin’ ” — 

“ O Patsey I ” The quick tears came to her 
eyes. “ Why, I am well, an’ everything’s so nice 
now, an’ Mrs. Brian jes’ lovely. Mebbe I ain’t 
quite so strong sence I was sick. An’ some- 
times I get lonesome with you away all day.” 

“ I wish youse knowed some gals ” — 

“ Patsey,” a soft, tender light came to her 
brown eyes, “ I think I miss the babies. They’re 
so cunnin’ an’ sweet, an’ put their arms round 
your neck an’ say such pritty little words. An’ if 


THE RESPONSE OF PINING EYES 


21 1 


I could have some babies I wouldn’t wash any 
more. That puts me out o’ breath like, an’ hurts 
my side. ’Twas that tired me for last night.” 

“Youse jist sha’n’t wash no more, then. But 
babies is such a bother ! ” 

“ I love thim so. An’ only two, maybe. Curis 
there ain’t a baby in this house, nor in the front, 
neither. Babies would seem like old times, when 
I had Bess.” 

There was such a wistful look in her pale, ten- 
der face. Patsey thought she had grown a great 
deal prettier, but he wished she had red cheeks. 
And he was moved to go out at once and hunt up 
the babies. 

Other girls might have made friends in the 
neighborhood ; but Dil had never acquired friendly 
arts, and now she shrank from companionship. 
But she liked Mrs. Brian ; and that very afternoon 
as they sat together Dil ventured to state her 
desires. 

“You don’t look fit to bother with ’em. You 
ought to be out pleasurin’ a bit.” 

“ But I’m strong, though ; an’ I used to be such 
a fat little chunk ! I was stunted like ; but I think 
I look better not to be so fat,” she said with quaint 
self-appreciation. 

“ There’s one baby I could get for you easy. 
The mother’s a nice body— you see, the man 


212 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


went off. She’s waitress in a restaurant, an’ her 
little girl’s pretty as a pink, with a head full of 
yellow curls, an’ big blue eyes. She pays a dollar 
for her keep, ’ceptin’ nights an’ Sundays. An’ 
you’d be so good, which the woman ain’t. You 
couldn’t hurt a fly if you tried.” 

“ Oh, if I could have her ! ” cried Dil eagerly. 
A little girl with golden hair, curly hair. And 
a dollar would pay for the washing and ironing. 
The boys had been so good about fixing up things 
and buying her clothes that she had felt she must 
do all she could in return. 

I’ll see about it this very evenin’, dear.” 

Oh, thank you ! thank you ! ” 

The mother, a slim young thing, came to visit 
Dil on Sunday, with pretty, chubby, two-year- 
old Nelly, who was not shy at all, and came and 
hugged Dil at once. Her prettiness was not of 
the spirituelle order, as Bess’s would have been 
under any circumstances. The eyes were merry 
and wondering, the voice a gay little ripple, and 
comforted Dil curiously. 

And through the course of the week several 
incidental ” ones came. It was like old times. 

Seems to me it’s nawful tough to be nussin’ 
kids,” said Patsey ; “ but, Dil, you’ve chirked up an’ 
grown reel jolly. You’re hankerin’ arter Bess, an’ 
can’t forgit. An’ ef the babies make ye chipper, 


THE RESPONSE OF PINING EYES 213 

let ’em come. I only hope they won’t take any 
fat offen yer bones, fer youse most a skiliton now. 
But sounds good to hear youse laugh agen.” 

“ I’d like just a little fat in my cheeks,” she 
made answer. 

Patsey brought her home a white dress one 
day, and said they would all go down to Coney 
Island some Sunday. 

“ I wouldn’t dast to,” she said. “ I’d be that 
afeared o’ meetin’ mother. She used to go las’ 
summer. An’ if she should find me ” — 

“Yer cudden’t find anybody, les’ yer looked 
sharp. An’ youse er that changed an’ sollumn 
lookin’ an’ big-eyed, no one’d know yer.” 

But jyou knew me,” with a grateful little smile. 

Patsey grinned and rolled his eyes. 

“ I was a-layin’ fer ye.” 

“You can take me up to Cent’l Park, Patsey. 
I’d like to go so much.” 

“That’s the talk, now! So I will. We’ll all 
go. We’ll have a reg’lar persesh, a stunner, an’ 
take our lunch, like the ’ristocrockery I ” 

Dil did brighten up a good deal. Baby kisses 
helped. She was starving for love, such as boys 
did not know how to give. She used to take 
Nelly out walking, and imagine her her very own. 
The mother instinct was strong in Dil. 

Having the washing done did ease up the work ; 


214 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


though one would have considered it no sinecure 
to feed five hungry boys. Now and then her 
head would ache, and occasionally something 
inside of her would flutter up in her throat, as it 
had when Bess died, and she would stretch out 
her hands to clasp some warm human support, 
her whole body in a shiver of vague terror. 

If John Travis would only come. She could 
not disbelieve in him. Last autumn in the mo- 
ment of desperate despair he had come, bringing 
such a waft of joy and satisfaction. There were 
so many things she wanted to ask him. She 
began to hope, in a vague way, that the Lord 
had come for Bess, for she wanted her in that 
beautiful heaven. But the mystery was too great 
for her untrained mind. And there intruded upon 
her thought, the horror of that moment when 
she knew Bess was dead. 

The hot weather was very trying. Hemmed 
in on all sides by tall buildings, her own room so 
small, with a window on a narrow space hardly 
six inches from the brick wall of the next house, 
there was little chance for air. The boys seemed 
to sleep through anything. 

So the weeks passed on with various small de- 
lights and events. The boys would go off and 
spend their money when they needed clothes, 
and then would follow heroic efforts at economiz- 


THE RESPONSE OF PINING EYES 215 

ing. Dil had such shrewd good sense, and they 
did listen to her gentle advice. They were a gay, 
rollicking lot, but their very spirits seemed to be 
of a world she had passed by. It was as if she 
was on the way to some unknown land, not quite 
a stranger, but a sojourner. 

Owen was a really tolerable boy, and bade fair 
to keep out of the reform school. They all 
mended of their swearing ; they were ready to 
wait on her at a word. 

The white frock was a beauty. Shorty brought 
her some pink ribbons that made her look less 
pale, and she had a wreath of wild roses on her 
hat that Mrs. Brian gave her. 

They made ready for their excursion one beau- 
tiful Sunday morning in July. There had been 
a tremendous shower the night before, and all 
nature was fresh and glowing. The very sky was 
full of suggestions in its clear, . soft blue, with 
here and there a white drift. 

Oh, how lovely the park looked ! Dil had to 
pause in a strange awe, as if she was hardly pre- 
pared to enter. It was like the hymn that was 
always floating intangibly through her mind — 
the fields and rivers of delight, the fragrant air, 
the waving trees and beds of flowers, the beautiful 
nooks, the bridges, the winding paths that seemed 
leading into delicious mysteries. 


2i6 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


The boys were wild over the animals. They 
were irrepressible, and soon tired out poor Dil. 
She had to sit down and press her hand on her 
heart. There was a strange sinking, as if she 
was floating off, like'the fleecy white drifts above 
her. 

“ Youse air nawful white ! ” cried Patsey in 
alarm. “ An’ ther’s sich a queer blue streak 
acrost yer lip. Air ye sick } 

She drew a long breath, and the world seemed 
to settle again, as she raised her soft eyes with 
a smile all about them. 

“No, Patsey — I’m only a bit tired. Let me 
sit an’ get rested.” 

She took the sunbrowned hand in hers with a 
mute little caress that brought a strange flush to 
the lad’s face. 

“Youse jist work too hard wid dem babies an’ 
all.” 

“ I’m only going to have Nelly nCxt week, an’ 
the Leary baby is to go in the country with his 
mother to live. ’Twasn’t nothin’ but a queer 
flutt’rin’ like, an’ it comes sometimes in the night 
when I cant be tired. It’s all over now ; ” and 
she looked bright and happy, if still pale. 

Patsey seemed hardly satisfied. 

“ I think it’s the hot weather. It’s been so 
hot, you know. An’ to-day’s splendid ! I’ll get 


THE RESPONSE OF PINING EVES 2 \^ 

better when cool weather comes, I’m most sure. 
You an’ the boys take a good long walk, an’ I’ll 
stay here with the lunch, an’ get all rested up. 
An’ I’ll make b’leve it’s heaven ; it’s so beautiful.” 

“ See here, Dil, don’t yer go an’ be thinkin’ 
’bout — ’bout heaven an’ sich ” — 

Patsey swallowed over a big lump in his throat, 
and winked vigorously. 

“ Bess an’ I used to talk about it,” she said in a 
soft, disarming fashion. “ We thought ’twas some- 
wers over the river there,” nodding her head. 
“But I’ll jes’ sit still in some shady place, an’ I 
won’t go to-day,” with a soft, comforting laugh. 

The boys protested at first. But Dil had a way 
of persuading them that was quite irresistible. 
They were boys to the full, and to sit still would 
have half killed them. They found a lovely nook, 
where she could see the lake and the boats, and 
the people passing to and fro in their Sunday at- 
tire. There were merry voices of little ones that 
touched her like music. 

She sat very still, with the lunch-basket at her 
feet. Occasionally some one cast a glance at the 
pale little girl in her white gown, with the wild 
roses drooping over the brim of her hat. A 
friendly policeman had seen the pantomime and 
the departure of the boys, and meant to keep 
guard that no one molested her. 


2i8 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


Dil could understand being ill from some specific 
disease ; but she did not feel ill, only tired. It 
was a different kind of fatigue from that back in 
Barker’s Court, for then she could fall asleep in a 
moment. Now the nights were curiously wake- 
ful. And the babies were heavy, even if there 
were only two of them. 

The refreshing atmosphere and the tranquil, 
beautiful pictures all about her intensified the 
thought of the heaven she was going to “ make 
b’leve ” about. She could picture it out, up and 
up, through country ways and flowers, wild roses 
maybe. Houses where they took you in and fed 
you, and put you to bed in such soft, clean beds. 
Queer people too, who couldn’t understand, and 
were wanting to turn back, — people who were 
afraid of lions and Giant Grim. She called up all 
the pictures she could remember, and they floated 
before her like a panorama. 

“ Though I can’t get it out straight myself,” 
and she sighed in helpless confusion. “ I ain’t 
smart as little Bess was, an’ can’t see into things. 
But I could push Bess along, an’ Mr. Travis would 
be Mr. Greatheart for us, an’ he’d know the way 
on ’count of his being book learned. An’ we’d 
just be kerful an’ not get into briars and bad 
places.” 

Was that Bess laughing softly, as she did some- 


THE RESPONSE OF PINING EYES 2ig 

times when her poor back didn’t hurt, and her 
head didn’t ache. The sweet, lingering sound 
seemed to pervade the summer air. She could 
see the time-worn wagon, the rug made of odds 
and ends, that they had both considered such a 
great achievement. There was the sweet, pallid 
face, not quite as it had looked in those last days, 
but resembling more the beautiful picture that had 
gone to the flames, the crown of golden hair, the 
mysterious, fathomless eyes, with a new knowl- 
edge in them, that Dil felt had not been garnered 
in that old, pinched life. 

Her own soul was suddenly informed with a 
mysterious rapture. She knew nothing of the 
Incarnation, of the love that came down and 
tasted pain and anguish, that others, in the suffer- 
ing laid upon them, might also know of the joy of 
redemption. At that moment Dilsey Quinn was 
not far from the kingdom. 

‘‘O Bess ! can’t you come back ? ” she cried in 
a breathless, entreating manner, her eyes luminous 
with the rare insight of faith, the evidence of 
things unseen. “ O Bess, you must be some- 
where ! I don’t b’leve you died jes’ like other 
folks ! Can’t you come back an’ tell me how it 
happened, ’cause I know you wouldn’t have gone 
and leaved me free of your own will ? ’’ 

A tremendous longing surged at Dil’s heart, 


220 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


and almost swept her away. Her breath came in 
gasps, her heart beat in great bounds, and then 
well nigh stopped. She was suddenly attuned to 
spiritual influences in that sweet, solemn solitude. 
Was it really Bess’s voice in the softly penetrative 
summer air — was the strange, shadowy pres- 
ence, so near that she could reach out and touch 
it — almost — that of the child ? 

She sat there rapt, motionless, seeing nothing 
with her mortal eyes ; but in that finer illumina- 
tion Bess moved slowly toward her, not walking, 
but floating, veiled in a soft, cloud-like drapery, 
stretching out her small, white hands. Dil took 
them, and they were not cold. She glanced into 
the starry eyes, and for moments that was 
enough. 

“ O Bess ! ” in the softest, tenderest whisper, 
“ if you was in heaven I couldn’t touch you, you’d 
be so far away. An’ it’s so sweet. But how did 
it all happen } ” 

“ When /le comes, an’ I ’most know now that he 
will come soon, Bess, dear, he c’n tell me how to 
go to where you are — waitin’, an’ we’ll start. 
There’s somethin’ I don’t know ’bout, an’ can’t get 
straight. I never was real smart at ketch in’ hold ; 
but it’s so beautiful to remember that his Lord 
Jesus took little children in his arms. An’ mebbe 
he’s took you up out o’ the place they buried you. 


THE RESPONSE OF PINING EYES 


221 


an’ is keepin’ you safe. You ain’t there in the 
ground — you must be ris’ up some way” — 

The very birds sang of an unknown land in 
their songs ; the wind murmuring gently through 
the trees thrilled her with an unutterable cer- 
tainty. Her slow-moving eyes seemed to pene- 
trate the very sky. Clear over the edge of the 
horizon it almost opened in its glory, as when 
Christiana was entering in ; and she felt certain 
now that she should walk through its starry gates 
with Bess’s little hand held tight in hers. 

“ O Bess, I c’n hardly wait for him to come ! 
Seems as if I must fly away to where you be, but 
Patsey an’ all the boys are so good to me. Seems 
if I never had such lovely quiet, an’ no one to 
scold nerbang my poor head. But I want you so, 
Bess ” — 

She stretched out her hands, but the sweet form 
seemed to float farther off. 

“ O Bess, don’t go away,” she pleaded. 

If the seers and the prophets saw heaven in 
their rapt visions, why not this poor starved little 
one whose angel always beheld the face of the 
Father in heaven. She was too ignorant to seize 
upon the truths of immortal life, but they thrilled 
through every pulse. She had no power of grasp- 
ing any but the simplest beliefs, but she knew 
some love and care had sheltered Bess. The 


222 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


dawning of a knowledge that held in its ineffable 
beauty and sacredness the truths of resurrec- 
tion penetrated her in a mysterious sense, aroused 
a faith that she could not yet comprehend ; but it 
gave her a strange peace. 

Her life had been a little machine out of which 
so much work must be steadily ground. It had 
needed all her attention. And Bess had taken all 
her love. But in the solitude and sense of loss 
she was learning to think. 

Dil was startled when she saw the boys strag- 
gling along irregularly. How large and strong 
Patsey was growing ! And how nice Owen 
looked in his clean summer suit ! Oh, where was 
little Dan ? She hoped he was happy, and had 
enough to eat and some time to play. 

They were a hungry lot. The great pile of 
sandwiches disappeared in a trice. And the cake 
that an artist in cook-books might have disdained, 
the boys believed beat anything the best baker 
could turn out. There had never been any treat 
quite up to the cake. Of course the stew was 
more “ fillin’ ” when one was tearing hungry, and 
cake was a luxury to their small income, but, oh, 
what a delight ! 

“You don’t eat nothin,” said Patsey, studying 
Dil anxiously. 

“ But I’ve rested so much. And I feel so 
happy.” 


THE RESPONSE OF PINING EYES 


223 


There was a divine light shining in her eyes, 
and it touched the boy’s soul. 

“ Dil, ef it wosn’t fer them ere freckles right 
acrost yer nose, an’ you wos a little fatter, you’d 
be jes’ as pooty as they make ’em. Youse growed 
real han’some, only you want some red cheeks.” 

Dil colored at the praise. Did a light shine in 
her face because she had seen Bess ? She would 
like to tell Patsey all about it; Yes, she had 
really seen her, but it was all infolded in mystery. 
How could she make it plain ? 

The boys ate up every crumb, and seasoned 
their repast with much merry jesting. Then they 
wanted to go on again. Wasn’t Dil rested enough, 
to go to the Museum ? 

It was a long walk, and after they entered Dil 
was glad to sit down. She looked at the curious 
white marble people, and asked Patsey if they 
was truly people or dead folks.” Shorty said “ it 
was the mummies who were dead folks ; ” but Dil 
shuddered at the thought of Bess being like that. 
There were so many curious things, beautiful 
things, that the child was bewildered. 

“’Tain’t so nice as out o’ doors,” said Fin. 
“ There’s somethin’ in the trees an’ flowers, an’ 
them places that are so still an’ quiet like, that 
stirs a feller all up.” 

Rough and unlearned as they were, nature 


224 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


appealed to them powerfully. Ah, what a day 
it was ! 

‘‘I’ve never had but just one time in my life 
that was so lovely,” said Dil with sweet grateful- 
ness : “an’ that wasn’t so beautiful, only strange. 
If anybody was so runnin’ over full o’ happiness 
all the time, ’pears to me it would kinder choke 
them all round the heart, so’s they couldn’t live.” 

“Don’t know ’bout that,” and Patsey chuckled. 
“ Happy people ain’t dyin’ off no faster’n other 
people, an’ don’t commit suicide so easy. But, 
golly ! ’twould take a good deal to fill a feller up 
chock full o’ happiness, ’cause it’s suthin’ like ice- 
cream, keeps meltin’ down all the time, ’n’ youse 
can pack in some more.” 

“I jus’ wish we had some now!” cried Owen, 
referring to the cream. 

“ It’s been — well — super splacious I There 
ain’t no word long ernuff to hold all’s been crowded 
in this ere day,” cried Fin enthusiastically. “ Say, 
boys, why don’t we come agin > Only ther’s music 
days — an golly I I jes’ wish I had lots of money an’ 
a vacation. Vacations ain’t no good when you 
don’t have money.” 

Dil enjoyed their pleasure. She was so strangely 
happy. She had seen Bess, and some time the 
puzzle would be explained. She had taken her 
first lesson in faith, and she felt light and joyous. 


THE RESPONSE OF PINING EYES 22$ 

as if she could fly. The very air was full of 
expectation. 

It was time to return, unless, indeed, they had 
brought their suppers along. Dil appreciated the 
long ride home. She was very tired, but the joy 
within buoyed her up. 

There was the rather well-gleaned ham bone 
and a dish of potatoes for supper, and the last of 
the wonderful cake, which they stretched out, and 
made to go all around. And they seasoned the 
supper with jests and pleasant laughs, and plans 
of what they would do, and hopes of being rich 
some day. Dil listened and smiled. They were 
all so good to her ! 

When they were through, Patsey began to pile 
up the dishes and carry them to the sink. He 
often did this for Dil, and none of the boys dared 
chaff him. She rose presently. 

The room, the very chair on which she rested 
her hand, seemed slipping away. All the air was 
full of feathery blue clouds. There was a curious 
rushing sound, a great light, a great darkness, and 
Dil was a little heap on the floor, white as any 
ghost. 

Patsey picked her up in his arms, and screamed 
as only a boy can scream, — 

“ Run quick for some one. Dil’s dead ! ” 


226 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


XIII 

THE LAND OF PURE DELIGHT 

Owen started out of the door in a great fright. 
Mrs. Wilson was strolling in her yard, and the boy 
called to her. There was a side gate that led out 
in the alley-way. She came through quickly, 
although she had held very much aloof from 
these undesirable neighbors. 

They had laid Dil on the lounge, stuffed anew 
and covered with bright cretonne. Patsey looked 
at her, wild-eyed. 

“ I think she has only fainted. My sister faints 
frequently.” She began to chafe Dil’s hands, and 
asked them to wet the end of the towel, with 
which she bathed the small white face, and the 
brown eyes opened with a smile, a little startled at 
the stranger bending over her. She closed them 
again; and Mrs. Wilson nodded to the intensely 
eager faces crowding about, saying assuringly, — 
She will be all right presently.” 

Then she glanced around the room. It was 
glean, and it had some pretty “gift pictures” 


THE LAND OF PURE DELIGHT 


227 


tacked up on the whitewashed wall. There was 
a bowl of flowers on the window-sill. The table 
had a red and white cloth, there were some Chinese 
napkins, and cheap but pretty dishes. The long 
towel hanging by the sink was fairly sweet in its 
cleanliness, and this pale little girl was the house- 
keeper ! 

“ Have you ever fainted before ? What had 
you been doing } ” she asked in a quiet manner. 

“ We’d been up to Cent’l Park. It was so beau- 
tiful ! But I guess I got tired out,” and Dil smiled 
faintly. “You see, I was in the hospital in the 
spring, an’ I ain’t so strong’s I used to be. But 
I feel all well now.” 

“Youse jes’ lay still there, ’n’ Owny, ’n’ me’ll 
wash up the dishes.” 

Patsey colored scarlet as he said this, but he 
stood his ground manfully. 

“They’re so good to me!” and Dil looked up 
into her visitor’s eyes with such heartsome grati 
tude that the lady was deeply touched. “ Patsey,” 
she added, “you’ve got on your best clo’es, ’n’ I 
wish you’d tie on that big apern. Mrs. Wilson 
won’t make fun, I know.” 

“ No, my child ; I shall honor him for his care- 
fulness,” returned Mrs. Wilson. 

Patsey’s face grew redder, if such a thing was 
possible, but he tied on the apron. 


228 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


“ I ought to have been more neighborly,” began 
Mrs. Wilson, with a twinge of conscience. “ I’ve 
watched you all so long, and you have all improved 
so much since old Mrs. Brown was here ! But 
everybody seems so engrossed with business ! ” 

“That’s along o’ Dil,” put in Patsey proudly. 
“When Dil come things was diff’rent. Dil’s got 
so many nice ways — she allis had.” 

“ Is your mother dead ? ” 

Dil’s face was full of scarlet shame and distress, 
but she could not tell a wrong story. 

“ Her mother ain't no good,” declared Patsey, 
in his stout championship ; for he did not quite 
like to tell a lie, himself, to the lady, and he knew 
Dil wouldn’t. “ But Dil’s splendid ; and Owny, 
that’s her brother,” nodding toward him, “ is fus’- 
rate. We’re keepin’ together ; an’ little Dan, 
he’s in a home bein’ took keer of.” 

“ O Patsey ! ” Dil flushed with a kind of 
shamefaced pleasure at his praise. 

“So you be ! I ain’t goin’ back on you, never.” 
And there was a little gruffness in his voice as is 
apt to be the case when a lump rises in a big boy’s 
throat. “ An’ you couldn’t tell how nice she’s fixed 
up the place — ’twas jes’ terrible when she come.” 

“But you all helped,” returned Dil. 

“ And you are all so much cleaner and nicer,” 
and their visitor smiled. 


tilE LAND OP PURE DELlGHt 220 

*‘Yes;we’m gittin’ quite tony.” Patsey slung 
out the dishcloth and hung it up, and spread the 
towel on a bar across the window. P'in and 
Shorty edged their way out, and Fossett settled to 
a story paper. Owny wanted to go with the boys, 
but, he compromised by sitting in the doorway. 

“ There is a little child here through the week, 
and r.ve seen a baby. My child, you are not 
compelled to care for them, are you ? ” 

<‘We didn’t want her to,” protested Patsey; “but 
you see, there was another pooty little thing, her 
sister Bess, who was hurted ’n’ couldn’t walk, ’n’ 
Dil took care of her. ’N’ las’ winter she died, 
’n’ Dil ’s been kinder broodin’ over it ever sence. 
We wos off all day, ’n’ she got lonesome like ; but 
she ain’t gonter have ’em any more, ’cause she 
ain’t strong, ’n’ we kin take keer of her,” proudly. 

“You look as if you ought to be taken care of 
altogether for a while.” 

Mrs. Wilson studied the pale little face. It 
had a curious waxen whiteness like a camellia. 
The eyes were large and wistful, but shining in 
tender gratitude ; the brows were finely pencilled ; 
the hair was growing to more.of a chestnut tint, 
and curled loosely about her forehead. She was 
strangely pretty now, with the pathetic beauty 
that touches one’s heart. 

“ Tell yer wot, Dil, us fellers ’ll chip in an’ 


230 


lisr WILD-ROSE TIME 


save up a bit ’n’ send youse off to the country like 
the ristocrockery. You don’t happen to know of 
some nice, cheapish place ? ” and Patsey glanced 
questioningly at the visitor. 

‘‘There are very nice places where it doesn’t 
cost anything. Country people often take chil- 
dren for a fortnight or so. My daughters went to 
a beautiful seaside place last summer that a rich 
lady fitted up for clerks and shop-girls. Of course 
they are older than you, young ladies, but — let 
me think a bit ” — 

Mrs. Wilson had never known much besides 
poverty. Youth, married life, and widowhood had 
been a struggle. She hired the whole front house, 
and rented furnished rooms to young men whose 
incomes would not afford luxurious accommoda- 
tions. Her sister was in poor health ; her two 
girls were in stores. Her son, who should have 
been her mainstay and comfort, was in an insane 
asylum, the result of drink and excesses. 

“ I can’t remember, but I must have heard my 
girls talking about places where they take ‘ little 
mothers,’ — the children who tend babies, and give 
them a lovely holiday in a beautiful country place, 
where they can run about the green fields and 
pick flowers and play and sing, or sit about and 
have nothing to do. I will try to learn something 
about them.” 


THE LAND OF PURE DELIGHT 23I 

“I don’t b’leve I could go ’way,” said Dil, 
with soft-toned doubtfulness. 

“ I wish you’d talk her out’n havin’ any babies. 
She ain’t no ways strong ’nuff. An’ we boys kin 
take keer o’ her. She aims her livin’ over ’n’ 
over agin. She’s had ’nuff to do wid kids all 
her life,” protested her champion. 

“But Nelly’s so sweet, and ’companies me so 
much,” Dil said longingly. 

“ But you orter be chirkin’ up a bit, ’stead er 
gittin’ so thin, an’ faintin’. ’Twas nawful, Dil. 
You looked jes’ ’s if youse wos dead.” 

“It didn’t hurt any, Patsey;” and she smiled 
over to him. “ ’Twas queer like ’s if all the bells 
in the world was ringin’ soft an’ sweet, an’ then 
you went sailin’ off. ’Twas worse when I went 
to ketch my breath afterward. But I’m all right 
now.” 

She glanced up smilingly to Mrs. Wilson, who 
took the soft little hands in hers, for soft they 
were in spite of the hard work they had done. 
Patsey had whisked the table up to the side of 
the room and brushed up the crumbs. Then he 
sat down and watched Dil. 

Mrs. Wilson said she must go in home, but she 
would run over in the morning. Patsey expressed 
his thanks in a frank, boyish manner, and Dil’s 
eyes said at least half of hers. 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


53^ 

Then Mrs. Brian and her husband returned, 
and she stopped to hear what kind of a picnic 
they had had. Between the three they told all 
the story and the fright. 

“Yes; she must give up all but Nelly, for her 
mother wouldn’t know how to stand it on such 
a short notice. The child achilly cries for you on 
Sundays, her mother told me. But we can’t have 
you killed for any babies in the land,” said Mrs. 
Brian emphatically. 

“ That’s the talk ! ” exclaimed Patsey. 

“Why, I feel jes’ as well as ever, an’ all rested 
like,” and Dil sat up, smiling. “ We walked so 
much to-day, but to-morrow I’ll be all right.” 

She seemed quite right the next morning. 
When Mrs. Brian’s “man” had gone, she came 
in and helped Dil with the breakfast things. Mrs. 
Cairns would leave her baby for the half-day, and 
Nelly came. Mrs. Wilson looked in upon her, 
with a bit of sewing in her hand. Dil did not try 
to do anything besides entertain the little ones. 
How sweet and naturally she did it ! 

But she was so tired she lay on the lounge a 
long while in the afternoon. Nelly played about, 
and talked in her pretty broken fashion. Dil 
dreamed of the vision she had seen. 

About five Mrs. Wilson came in, her thin face 
lighted with eagerness. 


The LAl^D OF PURE EELiGHt 


^33 


“ I must tell you something quite delightful,” 
she began. “I sew for several ladies ; and one of 
them, a Miss Lawrence, came in about an hour 
ago. She’s interested in several charities, and I 
asked her about the places where they sent poor 
tired children to recruit. My dear, she is on the 
committee of a society; and they have a beautiful 
large country-house, where they can take in from 
twenty to thirty children. There’s a housekeeper 
and nurses, and different young ladies go up to 
stay a week or two at a time. They read to the 
children, and take them out in the woods, and help 
them at playing games ; and there are music and 
singing, and great shady trees to sit under, and a 
barn full of new-mown hay, where they can play 
and tumble. Why, it made me wish I was a little 
girl!” 

Mrs. Wilson put her hand on her side, for she 
had talked herself out of breath. 

Dil’s eyes shone with delight. She could see it 
all in a vivid manner. 

“ Miss Lawrence couldn’t stay to-day ; but she 
is coming to-morrow morning, and wants to see 
you. She was so interested in the way all you 
children are living here. She’s a lovely woman ; 
and if there were more like her, who were willing 
to pay fair prices for work, the poor would be 
much the gainer.” 


234 


IN WiLD-ROSE TIME 


“You’re so good to me! Everybody is now,” 
said the child gratefully. 

Dil thought she hadn’t done much of anything 
that day, but she was really afraid to tell Patsey 
how tired she felt. He would wash up the dishes. 

“That’ll be jes’ the daisy, Dil ! ” he'said, when 
he heard about Miss Lawrence. “You want some 
country air, an’ — an’ reel fresh country milk. 
An’ don’t you worry. We’ll git along. You jes’ 
go an’ hev a good time.” 

Oh, could she go to such a blessed place — like 
Central Park all the time } 

She was quite shy and embarrassed when Miss 
Lawrence called. A large, pleasant-looking wo- 
man, with indications of wealth and refinement 
that Dil felt at once, and she seemed so much 
farther away than Mrs. Wilson. But she ques- 
tioned Dil very gently, and drew her out with a 
rare art. The pale face and evident weakness 
appealed to her, — seemed, indeed, to call for 
immediate attention. 

“I shall put you on jour next weeks’ list,” Miss 
Lawrence said with gracious interest. “ If any 
one ever earned a rest, I think you have. And I 
will come in to-morrow evening and talk it over 
with your brother and the boys.” 

The “boys” made themselves scarce, except 
Patsey and Owen, although Shorty went and sat 


THE LAND OF PURE DELIGHT ^35 

on Mrs. Brian’s stoop. But Miss Lawrence had' 
seen boys before, and even ventured on a dainty 
bit of slang that won Patsey at once. He was 
eager for Dil to go and get some red cheeks like 
Owen. It didn’t seem as if the two could be 
brother and sister. 

If Miss Lawrence had seen the sleeping ac- 
corrimodations she would have been more than 
shocked ; and yet there were hundreds in the 
city not as well housed, and few of the real poor 
as tidily kept. 

“ It would be jes’ lovely to go,” admitted Dil, 
with curious reluctance. “ But a whole week ! ” 

“Two weeks!” almost shouted Patsey. “An’ 
youse’ll come home so fat wid de new milk an’ 
all, yer clo’es won’t fit yer. We’ll jes’ hev to 
make a nauction an’ sell em’ second-hand.” 

“ An’ take half the money an buy her some 
new ones,” said Owen with a laugh. “ T’other 
half we’ll put in the bank.” 

Shorty had come sneaking back, and joined in 
the merriment. 

“’N’ I kin cook purty good, ’n’ wash dishes,” 
began Patsey, when Dil interrupted, — 

“ Oh, you will be careful of thim, won’t you.?” 

“Careful ! I’ll treat ’em as if they was aiggs. 
An’ I’ll make the boys stan’ roun’, so’s to keep 
the house — well — decent I ” and he made a 


IN WlLt)-ROSE IriME 


236 

funny, meaning face. “ Je-ru-sa-lem ! what a hole 
we had when youse come ! An’ now it’s like a 
pallis.” 

Not like the palace Dil remembered in the 
book that had been such a treat to her and Bess. 

Everybody made it easy for Dil. Mrs. Brian 
would see to the boys, and Mrs. Wilson offered to 
keep Nelly until her return. Still, it was Friday 
before Dil could really make up her mind. 

On Saturday Dil took Nelly and went up to 
Madison Square. The policeman kept out of her 
way ; he could not bear to face her look of dis- 
appointment. But just at the last she took him 
inadvertently. 

“ You see. I’m sure he’ll come soon,” she said 
with a confidence that seemed like a presentiment. 

’Cause he’ll be thinkin’ ’bout the Sat’day he 
made the picture of Bess an’ me. An’ I want 
him to know where I’ve gone ; so I’ve writ it out. 
I’ve been studyin’ writin’.” 

She looks like a ghost;” the man said to him- 
self as his eyes followed her. She’s that changed 
in a year no one would know her except for her 
eyes. If he don’t come soon, he won’t see her at 
all, to my thinking. Hillo ! what a scheme ! I’ll 
hunt him up. Why didn’t I think of it before ! 
John Travis! Seems to me I’ve heard something 
about John Travis.” 


THE LAND OF PURE DELIGHT 237 

Sunday was a soft, cloudy day, with a touch of 
rain. Every boy stayed at home — you couldn’t 
have driven them away. They promised to give 
Mrs. Brian the rent every night, so as to be pro- 
vided for next Monday. They sang some of their 
prettiest songs for her ; they didn’t know many 
hymns, but they had a spirit of tenderest devotion 
in their hearts. 

The boys said good-by to her the next morning 
in a rather sober fashion. Patsey and Owen were 
going to take her to the ferry, Mrs. Brian brought 
down her satchel, and Dil put in her white dress, 
some aprons, and various small matters. She was 
to wear her best pink gingham. Mrs. Wilson was 
full of hope, Mrs. Brian extremely jolly, and 
was sure Barnum would want her for a “ fat girl ” 
when she came back. 

Dil’s similitudes were very limited, but Cin- 
derella and the fairy godmother did come into her 
mind. 

Miss Lawrence was in the waiting-room with 
half a dozen girls. She came and greeted Dil 
cordially, and told her she looked better already. 
The child’s eyes brightened with a sunny light. 

Owen said good-by in a boy’s awkward fashion, 
and gave her the bag. Patsey was reluctant, and 
he turned slowly away. 

Then he came back. 


238 IN WILD-ROSE TIME 

“ Good-by, Dil, dear,” he said again with deep 
tenderness as he stooped to kiss her. He was so 
much taller, though only a few months older. 
And always Patsey Muldoon was glad he came 
back for that kiss. 

Then Miss Lawrence bought tickets and ushered 
her small procession, nine of them now, through 
the narrow way and out on the boat. They hud- 
dled together at first like a flock of sheep. Dil 
noticed one little hump-backed girl, who had large, 
light eyes and golden hair in ringlets. She was 
not like Bess, and yet she moved Dil’s sympa- 
thetic heart. Had a drunken father “hurted 
her”.? 

She felt shy of the others, they all seemed in 
such spirits. As they were going off the boat, 
she drew, nearer the unfortunate child and longed 
to speak. 

An impudent leer crossed the other face. 

“Who yer lookin’ at .? Mind yer own biz. I’m 
jes’ as good as youse ! ” was the unexpected sal- 
utation. 

“Yes,” answered Dil meekly, her enthusiastic 
pity quenched. 

Dil’s seat was in the window end, and her com- 
panion a stolid little German with two flaxen tails 
down her back. So she sat quite still. The 
morning had been so full of excitement she could 


THE LAND OF PURE DELIGHT ^ 239 

hardly think. She had been just whirled about, 
pushed into the adventure. 

But the “little mothers” interested her. Did 
they like babies, she wondered } Did their arms 
ache, and were their backs strained and tired 
carrying them about.? Most of them were thin 
and weary looking, yet they were in gay spirits, 
making little jokes and giving quick, slangy an- 
swers, ready to laugh at anything. 

Dil seemed quite apart from them. They passed 
through a tunnel, and there were little shrieks and 
giggles. The German girl caught Dil’s arm. Then 
they crossed rivers, passed pretty towns, bits of 
woods, flower gardens, long fields of waving corn, 
meadows where daisies still lingered, and tufts of 
red clover looked like roses. Ah, how large the 
world was ! And maybe heaven was a great deal 
farther off than she and Bess had imagined. They 
might have been all winter going if they had 
walked. She felt suddenly thankful that John 
Travis had advised against it. 

It was Dilsey Quinn’s first railroad journey, 
and it gave her the sensation of flying. She had 
brightened up, and a soft flush toned the pale- 
ness. An indescribable light hovered about her 
face, the rapt look that we term spiritual. 

They trooped out of the train, — it seemed a 
week since they had started, her brain was so full 


240 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


of beautiful impressions. A young lady had come 
down to meet them, and walked with Miss Law- 
rence. The children were wild with the newness 
of everything ; some of them had not even seen 
the nearest park before. They chased butter- 
flies ; they longed to chase the birds ; they ran 
and laughed, and presently came to a great white 
house set in an old orchard. 

“Children,” said Miss Lawrence, “here is your 
new home. You can run and play to your heart’s 
content. In the woods yonder you can shout and 
be as wild as you like. But you must come in 
first and take off your best dresses. And now 
you must mind when you are spoken to, and not 
quarrel with each other. 

They went through a wide hall and up an old- 
fashioned staircase. Three large rooms were full 
of narrow white-draped cots. The girls who 
pushed on ahead were given numbers to corre- 
spond. There were pegs for their hats and gar- 
ments, a shelf for their satchels and bundles. 
What a whispering, chattering, and giggling ! 
Here was a bath-room, and basins for washing. 
And then the bell rang for^dinner. 

Oh, what a dinner it was to most of the new- 
comers ! A great slice of sweet boiled beef, vege- 
tables, and bread in an unstinted fashion, and a 
harvest apple for dessert. Dil was too full of 


THE LAND OF PURE DELIGHT 24I 

rapture to eat, and she let the next girl, whose 
capacity seemed unlimited, have most of her 
dinner. 

Afterward they went out to play. Hammocks 
and swings were everywhere. They ran and 
shouted. They sat in the grass, and laughed 
with a sense of improbable delight. No one to 
scold, no work to do, not to be beaten for a 
whole long week! Oh, what joy it was to these 
little toilers in courts and slums and foul tene- 
ment houses ! 

Dil sat on a seat built around a great tree, and 
watched them. She was like one in a dream, 
quite apart from them. There is a delightful, un- 
questioning freemasonry among children. The 
subtle sign is given in a word or look or smile, 
and they are all kin. But it had been so long 
since Dil was a child, that she had forgotten 
the language. 

She was not unhappy nor solitary. She was 
simply beyond playing, far from boisterous mirth. 
She had been doing a woman’s work so long, and 
childhood for the poor is ever a brief season. 

Two or three girls shyly asked her to play 
‘Hag.” She gently shook her head. Then a 
long-ago sound caught her attention. 

Two little girls were holding their clasped 
hands up as high as they could stretch. A small 


242 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


procession passed, each girl holding to the skirt 
of the other, and singing : — 

“ Open the gates as high as the sky. 

And let King George and his men go by. 

Needle’s eye as I pass by, 

Awaiting to go through; 

Many a lass I have let pass. 

And now I have caught you.” 

Down came the arms of the “ gates ” over the 
head of the girl just under them. There was a 
shriek and a giggle. Then the one who was 
caught had to be a “ gate,” and so it went on. 

Dil looked, fascinated with a kind of remem- 
bered terror. It seemed as if she must have 
heard that in another world, it was so long, long 
ago. Before Bess was “hurted,” when Dan was 
a chubby baby, she had them both out, caring 
for them. At least, Dan was in the corner of the 
stoop, and Bess was tossing a ball for his amuse- 
ment. A group of girls were playing this very 
game. The arms came down and took Dilsey 
Quinn prisoner, and all laughed because she had 
been so quick to evade them. 

Something else — her mother’s heavy hand that 
dragged Dil out of the ring. The girls scattered, 
afraid of the tall, strong virago. Dil picked up 
the baby and took Bess by the hand. They were 


THE LAND OF PURE DELIGHT 


243 


not living in Barker’s Court then. She shuddered, 
for she knew what awaited her. She should have 
been in the house, getting supper, to be sure. 
She had not meant to play so long, and even then 
she so seldom played. 

Poor Dil ! For a fortnight or so she carried 
the marks on her body. 

“ I’ll tache ye to be wastin’ of yer time foolin’ 
wid sich,” said her mother. 

Then Bess was “ hurted,” and her mother ill in 
bed for weeks. They were warned out of the 
house, and for some time it was hard lines for 
them all. Dil never played any more. Childhood 
was at an end for her. 

And when she heard the merry voices here, a 
cold, terrible shiver came over her with the old 
memories. Was it softened by the thought that 
Bess could run about then ? But even little 
Bess had sometimes been cruelly beaten. After 
that — was there a strange comfort that had never 
come before, that Bess’s accident had saved her 
many an unreasonable punishment ? For Mrs. 
Quinn had let the poor little sufferer pretty much 
alone. Dil had managed to stand between, and 
take the blows and ill usage. 

Does God note all the vicarious suffering in the 
world, and write it in the book of remembrance ? 

Dil turned her head away. Another party were 


244 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


playing “ Ring a round a rosy.” And a group on 
the grass were being inducted into the mystery of 
“Jacks.” She wondered a little where her mother 
was. She did not want to see her, but she hoped 
matters were better with her. Surely she need 
not work so hard. And oh, if she would not 
drink gin ! But Dil had noted the fact that most 
women did as they grew older. 

Miss Lawrence came out presently with a 
bright cheery word for them all. 

“You’re not playing,” she said to Dil. “You 
must run about and have some fun, and get some 
color in your cheeks. And you must not sit and 
brood over your hard life. That is all passed, and 
we hope the good Father has something better 
in store. And you must be friendly with the 
others.” 

“Yes’m,” answered Dil, with soft pathos. 
“Only I’d rather sit here an’ look on.” 

“ Don’t get homesick after your boys,” and the 
lady’s smile went to Dil’s heart. “You’ll feel less 
strange to-morrow. I want this outing to be of 
real benefit to you. I’m going down to the city 
now, and will see Mrs. Wilson. When I come 
again I’ll bring you some word from the boys. I 
am sure everything will be done for your comfort.” 

“Yes’m,” Dil answered meekly, but with an 
uplifted smile, 


THE LAND OF PURE DELIGHT 245 

Several little girls ran and kissed her a raptur- 
ous good-by. When Dil saw her go out of the 
gate she felt strangely alone. She wanted to fly 
home to the boys, to get their supper, to listen 
to their merry jests and adventures, to see their 
bright eyes gleam, and hear the glad laughter. 
She felt so rested. Oh, if she had not promised 
Patsey to stay a whole long week. And one day 
was not yet gone. 

She espied a vacant hammock, and stole lightly 
out from her leafy covert to take possession. It 
was odd, but the little hump-backed girl seemed 
a centre of attraction. She said so many droll, 
amusing things. She was pert and audacious to 
be sure. She could talk broken Dutch and the 
broadest Irish, and sing all the street songs. The 
children were positively fascinated with her. A 
wonder came to Dil as to how it would feel to 
be so enthusiastically admired. 

She lay there swinging to and fro until the sup- 
per bell rang long and loud. One of the attend- 
ants came and talked with her while the children 
were tripping in from the woods. Something in 
her appearance and gentle manner reminded Dil 
of the hospital nurse. 

There was a good deal of singing in the evening, 
but they all went to bed early. How wonderfully 
quiet it was ! No dogs barking, no marauding cats 


246 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


wRuling dismally on back fences, no rattle and whiz 
of “ L ” cars, no clatter of heavy wagons. And 
oh, the wonderful sweetness in the air! If Dil 
had ever achieved Bible reading, she would have 
thought of “ songs in the night ” and a “ holy so- 
lemnity,” but she could feel the things unutterable. 

The window was next to her bed. She sat up 
and watched the ships of fleece go drifting by. 
How the great golden stars twinkled ! Were they 
worlds ? and did people live in them ? They made 
a mysterious melody ; and though she had not 
heard of the stars singing for joy, she felt it in 
every pulse with a sweet, solemn thrill of rapture. 

Was that heaven back of the shining stars } 
And oh I would she and Bess and John Travis be 
together there ? For he would help her to call 
back Bess, as she came on Sunday. It was 
only a little while to wait now. She felt the 
assurance — for the poor ignorant little girl had 
translated St. Paul’s sublime, “ By faith.” 

The moon silvered the tree-tops, and presently 
sent one slant ray across the bed. Dil laid her 
hands in it with a trance of ecstasy. The deli- 
cious state of quietude seemed to make her a part 
of all lovely, heavenly things. It was the “ land 
of pure delight ” that John Travis sang about. 
A whole line came back to her, — 

“And pleasures banish pain.” 


THE LAND OE PURE DELIGHT 24/ 

Dilsey Quinn had attained to the spiritual 
pleasures. Pain was not, could not be again. 

She was not a bit sleepy. She watched the 
moon dropping down and down. All the insects 
had stopped. A soft darkness seemed spread over 
everything, and by dozens the stars went out. 
Ah, how wonderful it all was ! If people could 
only have chances to know ! 

“My child,” said Miss Mary at the breakfast 
table, “you are not eating anything! Don’t you 
like porridge, and this nice milk ? ” 

“Yes, it’s so good,” replied Dil gratefully. 
“An’ the milk seems almost as if ’twas full of 
roses, it’s so sweet. But I can’t get hungry as I 
used, an’ when I eat just a little I seem all filled 
up.” 

“ Would you like bread better ? And some nice 
creamed potatoes ? ” 

“ I don’t want nothin’ more.” Dil looked up 
with a soft light in her eyes. “ Mebbe by noon 
I’ll be hungry — I most know I will.” 

“Yes, I hope so.” 

It was such a long morning to Dil, so hard to 
sit round and do nothing. If there had been a 
baby to tend, or a room to tidy. She would have 
been glad to go to the kitchen and help prepare 
the vegetables. She was so used to work that 
she could not feel at home in idleness. 


248 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


She went over to the woods with the children 
to please Miss Mary, who suggested it so gently. 
But some feeling — the long disuse of childhood — 
held her aloof. She could not join in their plays, 
but it was a pleasure to watch them. And how 
wonderful the woods were ! The soft grasses 
with feathery heads, the mosses, some of them 
with tiny red blossoms not as large as a pin’s 
head. There were a few wild flowers left, and 
long trails of clematis wandering about ; shining 
bitter-sweet, green chestnut burrs in clusters, the 
long, fringy blossoms in yellow brown still holding 
on to some of them. There were bunches of lit- 
tle fox grapes, too bitter and sour for even chil- 
dren to eat. 

She sat down on a stone and almost held her 
breath. It was the real, every-day country, not 
Central Park. The birds sang at their own sweet 
will, and made swift dazzles in the sunshine as 
they flew from tree to tree. Could heaven be 
any better ? But there was no pain nor sickness 
nor weariness in heaven. And she felt so strangely 
tired at some moments. 

She used her utmost endeavors to eat some 
dinner. It had such an appetizing flavor. The 
little girl next to her, who had swallowed her sup- 
per so quickly last night, eyed it longingly. 

^‘You can have the potato and the meat,” Dil 


THE LAND OF PURE DELIGHT 249 

whispered softly. That travelled down red lane, 
and still seemed to leave a hollow behind. It was 
like the hungry boys at home, and she smiled. 

She sat under the tree again, and Miss Mary 
tried to persuade her to go and play, but she was 
gently obstinate. 

“ Miss Lawrence asked me specially to look 
after her,” she said to another of the attendants. 
“ She looks like a little ghost ; but whether she 
is really ill, or only dead tired out, I can’t decide. 
It’s so natural for •children to want to play, but 
she doesn’t seem to care to do anything but mope. 
Yet she speaks up so cheerful.” 

“ Poor children ! How hard some of their lives 
are,” and her companion sighed. 

Dil’s supper tasted good ; and she was so sorry 
she couldn’t eat more, as she glanced up and 
caught Miss Mary’s eye. 

^‘I’m ever so much better,” she said in her soft, 
bright manner. “ I’m glad ; for the boys wanted 
me to get well an’ fat, an’ have red cheeks. I’ll 
try my best, you’re all so good. An’ it’s such a 
beautiful place. I wonder what made -r- some one 
— think ’bout the little mothers ? But the babies 
ought to be here too.” 

“ That wouldn’t give the little mothers much 
rest. Are there many babies in your family ? ” 
There ain’t any, but — but some that come in. 
Other people’s babies.” 


250 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


“ And does your mother keep a nursery? ” 

“ I ain’t got any mother now. I took the 
babies ’cause I liked them.” 

But where do you live ? ” 

‘‘ With my brother an’ — an’ the boys. I keep 
house.” 

How unchildishly reticent she seemed. And 
most of the children were ready to tell everything. 

The little household was called in for their 
evening singing. 


VIRGINIA DEERING 


25 


XIV 

VIRGINIA DEERING 

Wednesday’s visitor was a tall, slim girl with 
an abundance of soft, light hair, that fell in loose 
waves and dainty little curls. Her gown was so 
pretty, a sort of grayish-blue china silk with clus- 
ters of flowers scattered here and there. Her 
wide-brimmed, gray chip hat was just a garden of 
crushed roses, that looked as if they might shake 
off. 

There was a charm about her, for the children 
who had seen her the week before ran to her with 
joyful exclamations. They kissed her white hands, 
they caught hold of her gown, and presently she 
dropped on the grass and they all huddled about 
her. She told them a story, very amusing it must 
have been, they laughed so. Sadie Carr, the little 
deformed girl, seemed to lay instant claim to her. 

Dil had a strange, homesick yearning to-day. 
She longed so to see the boys. Her eyes over- 
flowed with tears as she thought of them and 
their warm, vital love. She seemed almost to 


252 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


have lost Bess. Could she see her again at Cent’l 
Park she wondered.? She would ask Patsey to 
take her there as soon as she went home. 

A great hay wagon had come and taken a load 
of the children down to the meadows. Three 
were in disgrace for being naughty, and had to 
spend an hour sitting on the stoop. Some were 
reading. The German girl was crocheting. 

Dil sat out under the old branching apple-tree, 
whose hard red apples would be delightful along 
in the autumn. She was counting up the days. 
To-night they would be half gone. Would they 
let her go on Saturday she wondered ? She looked 
at her poor little hands — they hadn’t grown any 
fat. 

“ Who is that little girl .? and why does she keep 
apart from the others .? ” asked Miss Deering. 

“ I don’t know. She seems strange and hard to 
get on with. But she looks so weakly that even 
sitting still may do her good. Go and see what 
you can make of her. Miss Virginia.” 

Miss Deering had several roses in her hand. 
She sauntered slowly down to Dil, and dropped 
the roses in her lap on the thin white hands. 

Oh, thank you ! ” Dil exclaimed gravely. She 
did not pick them up with the enthusiasm Miss 
Deering expected. 

‘‘Don’t you care for flowers.?” Miss Deering 


VIRGINIA DEERING 253 

seated herself beside the quiet child, and studied 
the face turned a little from her. 

“Yes, I like thim so much,” glancing at them 
with a curiously absent air. Her manner was so 
formal and old-fashioned, and she roused a sense 
of elusiveness that puzzled the young lady. 

“ I think I must have seen you before. I can’t 
just remember ” — 

Dil raised her soft brown eyes, lustrous still 
with the tears of longing that were in them a mo- 
ment ago. The short curved upper lip, the tum- 
bled hair, the gravely wondering expression — how 
curiously familiar it seemed. 

“ I hope you are happy here ” she said gently. 

“ I like it better home,” Dil returned, but with 
no emphasis of ungraciousness. “ I’m used to the 
boys, ’n’ they’re so good to me. But they wanted 
me to come an’ get well. I wasn’t reel sick only 
— Patsey don’t like me to look like a skiliton, he 
says. Everybody here’s so nice.” 

“And who is Patsey — your brother 

She seemed to study Virginia Deering in her 
turn. It was a proud face, yet soft and tender, 
friendly. It touched the reticent little soul. 

“No; Owen’s my brother. There’s some more 
boys, an’ we keep house. Patsey is — Patsey’s 
alwers been good to me an’ Bess.” 

There was a touching inflection in her tone, 


254 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


“ Who is Bess ? ” with a persuasive entreaty 
that found its way to the lonely heart. 

Bess is — Bess was ” — The voice trembled 
and died out. Virginia Deering slipped her arm 
about the small figure with a sympathetic near- 
ness. Dil made another effort. 

“ Bess was my poor little hurted sister. I didn’t 
ever have no other one.” 

Don’t you want to tell me about her ? I 
should so like to hear. How did she get 
hurt.?” 

Virginia Deering had of late been taking les- 
sons in divine as well as human sympathy. She 
was willing to begin at the foundation with the 
least of these. 

Dil looked across the sunny field to the shaded, 
waving woods. There had never been any one to 
whom she could tell all of Bess’s story. Mrs. 
Brian, tender and kindly, had not understood. A 
helpless feeling came over her. 

“ I wonder if she loved roses .? Did she ever 
have any.?” . Miss Deering laid her finger on 
those in Dil’s hand, then felt under and clasped 
the hand itself. 

Dil was suddenly roused. The grave face 
seemed transfigured. Where had she seen it — 
under far different auspices .? 

“ She had some wild roses wunst. Oh, do you 


VIRGINIA DEERING 255 

know what wild roses is ? I looked in the woods 
for some yest’day.” 

Wild roses ! She had set herself to bear her 
lot, bruised and wrecked in an evil moment, with 
all the bravery of true repentance. 

“Yes,” in a soft, constrained tone. “I have 
always loved them. And last summer where I 
was staying there were hundreds of them.” 

“Oh,” cried Dil eagerly, “that was jest what 
he said. It was clear away to las’ summer. Pat- 
sey was up to Grand Cent’l deepo’. He carried 
bags an’ such. An’ a beautiful young lady gev 
him a great bunch. Casey made a grab fer thim, 
but Patsey snatched, an’ he’s strongest, ’n’ he gev 
it to Casey good till a cop come, ’n’ then he run 
all the way to Barker’s Court an’ brought thim to 
Bess an’ me.” 

“A great bunch of wild roses ! Oh, then I know 
something about Patsey. It was one day in Au- 
gust. And — and I had the roses.” 

Dil’s face was a rare study. Virginia Deering 
bent over and kissed it. Then the ice of strange- 
ness was broken, and they were friends. 

This was Patsey’s “stunner.” She was very 
sweet and lovely, with pink cheeks, and teeth like 
pearls. Dil looked into the large, serious eyes, 
and her heart warmed until she gave a soft, glad, 
trusting laugh. 


256 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


‘‘ Patsey’ll be so glad to have me find you ! 
They were the beautifullest things, withered up 
some, but so sweet. Me an’ Bess hadn’t never 
seen any ; an’ I put them in a bowl of water, an’ all 
the baby buds come out, an’ they made Bess so 
glad she could a-danced if she’d been well, ’cause 
she used to ’fore she was hurted, when the hand- 
organs come. They was on the winder-sill by 
where she slept, an’ every day we’d take out the 
poor dead ones. ’N’ there was jes’ a few Sat’day 
when we went up to the Square an’ met the man. 
’N’ I allers had to wheel Bess, ’cause she couldn’t 
walk.” 

“ What hurt her > ” 

Well — pappy did. He was dreadful that 
night along a-drinkin’, an’ he slammed her against 
the wall, an’ her poor little hurted legs never grew 
any more. An’ the man said jes’ the same as you, 
— that he’d been stayin’ where there was hun- 
dreds of thim, an’ he made the beautifullest pic- 
ture of Bess — she was pritty as an angel.” 

Miss Deering’s eyes fell on the little trail of 
freckles across Dil’s nose. They were very small, 
but quite distinct on the waxen, pale skin. 

“And he painted a picture of you ! He put 
you in that wild-rose dell. I know now. I 
thought I must have seen your face.” 

Dil looked almost stupidly amazed. 


VIRGINIA DEERING 


257 


“Bess was so much prittier,” she said simply. 

Do yoM know ’bout him He went away ever 
so far, crost the ’Lantic Oshun. But he said he’d 
come back in the spring.” 

She lifted her grave, perplexed eyes to a face 
whose wavering tints were struggling with keen 
emotion. 

“He couldn’t come back in the spring. He 
went abroad with a cousin who loved him very 
much, who was ill, and hoped to get well ; but he 
grew worse and weaker, and died only a little 
while ago. And Mr. Travis came in on Monday, 
I think.” 

Her voice trembled a little. 

“ Oh, I knew he would come ! ” The glad cry 
was electrifying. 

And she, this little being, one among the waifs 
of a big city, had looked for him, had a right to 
look for him. 

“ He ain’t the kind to tell what he don’t mean. 
Bess was so sure. An’ I want to ast him so 
many things I can’t get straight by myself. I 
ain’t smart like Bess was, an’ we was goin’ to 
heaven when he come back ; he said he’d go with 
us. An’ now Bess is dead.” 

“My dear little girl,” Virginia held her close, 
and kissed the cool, waxen cheek, the pale lips, 
“ will you tell me all the story, and about going 
to heaven ” 


258 IN WILD-ROSE TIME 

It was an easy confidence now. She told the 
plans so simply, with that wonderful directness 
one rarely finds outside of Bible narratives. Her 
own share in the small series of tragedies was re- 
lated with no consciousness that it had been 
heroic. Virginia could see the Square on the 
Saturday afternoon, and Bess in her wagon, when 
she “ ast Mr. Travis to go to heaven with them.” 
And the other time — the singing. Ah, she well 
knew the beauty and pathos of the voice. How 
they had hoped and planned — and that last sad 
night, with its remembrance of wild roses. Dil’s 
voice broke now and then, and she made little 
heart-touching pauses p but Virginia was crying 
softly, moved from the depths of her soul. And 
Dil’s wonderful faith that she could have brought 
Bess back to life bordered on the sublime. 

“ Oh, my dear,” and Virginia’s voice trembled 
with tenderness, “you need never doubt. Bess 
is in heaven.” 

“No,” returned Dil, with a curious certainty in 
her tone, “she ain’t quite gone, ’cause I’ve seen 
her. We all went up to Cent’l Park, Sunday 
week ago. I was all alone, the boys goin’ off 
walkin’, an’ me bein’ tired. I wanted her so 
much, I called to her ; an’ she come, all beautiful 
an’ well, like his picture of her. I c’n talk to her, 
but she can’t answer. There’s a little ketch in it 


VIRGINIA DEERING 


259 


I can’t get straight, not bein’ smart like to under- 
stand. But she’s jes’ waitin’ somewheres, ’n’ he 
kin tell me how it is. You see, Bess wouldn’t 
go to heaven ’thout me, an’ he would know just 
where she is. For she couldn’t get crost the 
river ’n’ up the pallis steps ’les I had hold of her 
hand. For she never had any one to love her 
so, ’n’ she wouldn’t go back on me for a whole 
world.” 

Miss Deering could readily believe that. But, 
oh, what should she say to this wonderful faith ? 
Had it puzzled John Travis as well ? 

And who sent you here } ” she asked, to break 
the tense strain. 

Dil told of the fainting spell, and Mrs. Wilson 
and Miss Lawrence, who had been so good. 

But now he’s come, you see, I must get well 
an’ go down. He’ll be there waitin’. Fd like to 
stay with the boys, but somethin’ draws me to 
Bess. I feel most tore in two. An’ ther’s a 
chokin’ in my throat, an’ my head goes round, an’ 
I can’t hardly wait, I want to see her so. When 
I tell Patsey and Owny all about it, Fm most sure 
they’ll want me to go, for they know how I loved 
Bess. An’ when Ae comes, he’ll know what’s jes’ 
right.” 

They were silent a long while. The bees 
crooned about, now and then a bird lilted in the 


26 o 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


gladness of his heart. Virginia Deering was ask- 
ing herself if she had ever loved like this, and 
what she had suffered patiently for her love. 
For her self-will and self-love there had been 
many a pang. But she let her soul go down now 
to the divinest humiliation. Whatever Jie did 
henceforth, even to the dealing out of sorest pun- 
ishment, must be right evermore in her eyes. 

The children were coming back from their ride, 
joyous, noisy, exuberant ; their eyes sparkling, 
their cheeks beginning to color a little with the 
vivifying air and pleasurable excitement. Dil 
glanced at them with a soft little smile. 

“ I think they want you,” she said. “ They 
like you so. An’ I like you too, but I’ve had 
you all this time.” 

“ You are a generous little girl.” Virginia was 
struck by the simple self-abnegation. “ I will 
come back again presently.” 

She did not let the noisy group miss anything 
in her demeanor. And yet she was thinking of 
that summer day, and the poor roses she had 
taken so unwillingly. How she had shrunk from 
them all through the journey ! How she had 
tossed them out, poor things, to be fought over 
by street arabs. They had come back to her 
with healing on their wings. And that John 
Travis should have seen them, and the two little 


VIRGINIA DEERING 


26 


waifs of unkind fortune. Ah, how could she have 
been so fatally blind and cruel that day among 
the roses } And all for such a very little thing. 

What could she say to this simple, trustful 
child ? If her faith and her beliefs had gone out- 
side of orthodox lines, for lack of the training all 
people are supposed to get in this Christian land, 
was there any way in which she could amend it ? 
No, she could not even disturb it. John Travis 
should gather in the harvest he had planted ; for, 
like Dil, she believed him in sincere earnest. She 
almost knew that he meant to set out on the 
journey to heaven,” if not in the literal way poor, 
trusting little Dil took it. And she honored him 
as she never had before. 

She came back to Dil for a few moments. 

“ Don’t you want to hear about the picture ? ” 
she asked. It quite went out of my mind. Mr. 
Travis exhibited it in London, and a friend bought 
it and brought it home. I saw it a fortnight ago. 
So you brought him a great deal of good fortune 
and money.” 

“ I’m so glad,” her eyes shone with a soul radi- 
ance ; “ for he gev us some money — it was for 
Bess, an’ we buyed such lots of things. We had 
such a splendid time! Five dollars — twicet — 
an’ Mrs. Bolan, an’ she was so glad ’bout the 
singin’. But I wisht it had been Bess. He 


262 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


couldn’t make no such beautiful picture out’n 
me. Bess looked jes’ ’s if she could talk.” 

'‘He put you in that beautiful thicket of roses.” 
Ah, how well he had remembered it ! “I do not 
think any one would have you changed, but you 
were not so thin then.” 

“ No ; ” Dil gave the soft little laugh so differ- 
ent from the other children. "I was quite a little 
chunk, mammy alwers said, an’ I don’t mind, only 
Patsey wants me to get fatter. Mebbe they make 
people look beautifuller in pictures,” and she gave 
a serious little sigh. 

Then the supper-bell rang. Dil held tightly to 
the slim hand. 

“ They’re all so good,” she said earnestly. 
“ But folks is diff’rent. Some come dost to you,” 
and she made an appealing movement of near- 
ness. “ Then they couldn’t understand ’bout me 
an’ Bess — that she’s jes’ waitin’ somewheres till 
I kin find out how to go to her, an’ then he’ll tell 
us which way to start for heaven. I’m so glad 
you know 

Dil tried again to eat, but did not accomplish 
much. She was brimful of joy. Her eyes shone, 
and a happy smile kept fluttering about her face, 
flushing it delicately. 

“ You have made a new child of her,” said Miss 
Mary delightedly. " I thought her a dull and 


VIRGINIA DEERING 263 

unattractive little thing, but such lives as theirs 
wear out the charms and graces of childhood 
before they have time to bloom. We used to 
think the poor had many compensations, and 
amongst them health, that richer people went 
envying. Would any mother in comfortable cir- 
cumstances change her child’s physique for these 
stunted frames and half-vitalized brains ? ” 

Virginia Deering made some new resolves. It 
was not enough to merely feed and clothe. She 
thought of Dilsey Quinn’s love and devotion ; 
of Patsey Muldoon’s brave endeavor to rescue 
Owen, and keep him from going to the bad, and 
his generosity in providing a home for Dil, to save 
her from her brutalized mother. Ah, yes ; charity 
was a grander thing, — a love for humanity. 

Dil came to say good-night. Virginia was 
startled by the unearthly beauty, the heavenly 
content, in her eyes that transfigured her. 

“ You breathe too short and fast,” she said. 

You are too much excited.” 

I d’n’ know — I think it’s ’cause cornin’. 
’N’ I’ve waited so, ’n’ now it’s all light ’n’ beauti- 
ful, ’n’ I don’t feel worried no more.” 

‘‘ You must go to sleep and get rested, and — 
get well.” Yes, she 7nust get well, and have the 
different kind of life Virginia began to plan for 
her. 


264 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


A soft rain set in. There was such a tender 
patter on the leaves that Dil almost laughed 
in sympathetic joy. Such delightful fragrance 
everywhere ! For a moment she loathed the city, 
and it seemed as if she could not go back to the 
crowded rooms and close air. But only for a 
little while. John Travis would set her on the 
road to heaven. 

It was curious how bits of the hymn came back 
to her. She could not have repeated the words 
consecutively — it was like the strain of remem- 
bered melody one follows in one’s brain, and yet 
cannot give it voice. She seemed actually to see it. 

“ O’er all those wide extended plains, 

Shines one eternal day.” 


Eternal day ! and no night. Forever to be 
walking about with Bess, when the Lord Jesus 
had taken her in his arms and made her like other 
children. Oh, did Sadie Carr know that in heaven 
she would be straight and nice and beautiful ^ 
She must ask Miss Deering to tell her. Then 
her heart went out with trembling, yearning ten- 
derness toward her mother. Couldn’t the Lord 
Jesus do something to keep her from drinking 
gin and going up to the Island } Was little Dan 
in a happy home like this, with plenty to eat } — 
boys were always hungry. She used to be before 


VIRGINIA DEERING 265 

Bess went away, but it seemed as if she should 
never be hungry again. 

The little girls around her were breathing 
peacefully. They were still well enough to have 
a good time when beneficent fortune favored. 
They had run and played and shouted, and were 
healthily tired. Dil remembered how sleepy she 
used to be when she was crooning songs to Bess. 
But since the day at Central Park it had been so 
different. The nights were all alight with fan- 
cies, and she was being whirled along in an air 
full of music and sweetness. 

Toward morning it stopped raining. Oh, how 
the birds sang at daylight ! She dropped off to 
sleep then, but presently something startled her. 
She was back with the boys, and there was break- 
fast to get. She heard the eager voices, and 
sprang out of bed, glancing around. 

It was only the children chattering as they 
dressed. Perhaps she looked strange to them, 
for one little girl uttered a wild cry as Dil slipped 
down on the floor a soft little heap. 

The nurses thought at first that she was dead, 
it was so long before there was any sign of return- 
ing animation, and then it was only to lapse from 
one faint to another. 

“ We must have the doctor,” said Miss Mary. 

And we will take her to my room. There are 


266 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


three children in the Infirmary, one with a 
fever.” 

The room was not large, but cheerful in aspect. 
A tree near by shut out the glare of the sunshine, 
and sifted it through in soft, changeful shadows. 

“ She looks like death itself. Poor little girl ! 
And Miss Lawrence was so interested in her. 
Will you mind staying a bit. Miss Virginia!* 
There are so many things for me to do, and the 
doctor will be in soon.” 

Virginia did not mind. She had been keeping 
a vigil through the night. She had taken a pride 
in what she called shaping her life .on certain 
noble lines. How poor and small and ease-loving 
to the point of selfishness they looked now! 
What could there ever be as simply grand and 
tender as Dilsey Quinn’s love for her little sister, 
and her cheerful patience with the evils of a hard 
and cruel life ? 

She had been in the wrong, she knew it well. 
She had waited for him to make an overture; but 
he had gone without a word, and that had height- 
ened her anger. Then had come a bitter sense 
of loss, a tender regret deepening into real and 
fervent sorrow. Out of it had arisen a nobler 
repentance, and acceptance of the result of her 
evil moment. She had hoped some time, and in 
some unlooked-for way, they would meet. 


VIRGINIA DEERING 


267 


But since she had given the offence, could she 
not be brave enough to put her fate to the touch 
and 

“Win or lose it all”? 

The words that had always seemed so hard to 
say came readily enough, as she told the story of 
the human blighted rose that had brought a new 
faith to her. 

Dil seemed to rally before the doctor came. 
She opened her eyes, and glanced around with the 
old bright smile. 

“ It’s all queer an’ strange like,” she said ; 
“but you’m here, an’ it’s all right. Did I faint 
away ^ ’Cause my head feels light an’ wavery as 
it did that Sunday night.” 

“Yes, you fainted. But you are better now. 
And the doctor will give you a tonic to help you 
get well. We all want you to get well.” 

“ I ain’t never been sick, ’cept when I was in 
the hospital, hurted. I only feel tired, for I 
ain’t got no pain anywhere, an’ I’ll soon get 
rested. ’Cause I want to go down home an’ see 
/itm. If I could go over to the Square on Sat’day. 
I ’most know he’ll be waitin’ for me.” 

Should she tell the poor child } Oh, was she 
sure John Travis would come He need not see 
her. She had hot asked for herself. 

The kindly, middle-aged doctor looked in upon 


268 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


them at this moment, accompanied by Miss Mary. 
Dil smiled with such cheerful brightness that it 
almost gave the contradiction to her pale face. 
He sat down beside her, counted her pulse, talked 
pleasantly until she no longer felt strange, but 
answered his questions, sometimes with a shade 
of diffidence when they reflected on her mother’s 
cruelty, but always with a frank sort of inno- 
cence. Then he listened to her breathing, heart 
and lungs, and the spot where the two ribs were 
broken, “ that hadn’t ever felt quite good when 
you rubbed over it,” she admitted. He held up 
her hand, and seemed to study its curious trans- 
parency. 

“ So you are only a little tired ? Well, you 
have done enough to tire one out, and now you 
must have a good long rest. Will you stay here 
content ? ” he asked kindly. 

“ Everybody’s so good ! ” and her eyes shone 
with a glad, grateful light. “But I’d like to go 
by Sat’day. There’s somethin’ — Miss Deerin’ 
knows ” — and an expectant smile parted her lips. 

“Well, to-day’s Thursday, and there’s Friday. 
We’ll see about it. I’d like you to stay in bed 
and be pretty quiet — not worry ” — 

“ I ain’t got nothin’ to worry ’bout,” with her 
soft little laugh. “ It’s all come round right, an’ 
what I wanted to know most of all, I c’n know on 


VIRGINIA DEERING 


269 


Sat’^lay. I kin look out o’ the winder and see 
the trees ’n’ the sunshine, an’ hear the birds sing. 
An’ everybody speaks so sweet an’ soft to you, 
like ’s if their voices was makin’ music. O no, I 
don’t mind, only the children’ll want Miss Deerin,’ 
and I want her too.” 

“ Your want is the most needful. She shall 
stay with you.” 

The brown quartz eyes irradiated with luminous 
gleams. 

^‘Very well,” he said, with an answering smile. 

Miss Deering came out in the hall. He shut 
the door carefully. 

‘‘If she wants anything or anybody, let her 
have it. Keep her generally quiet, and in bed. 
Though nothing can hurt her very much. It is 
too late to help or hinder.” 

“ O surely you do not mean ” — * Miss Deering 
turned white to the very lips. 

“ She’s as much worn out as a woman of eighty 
ought to be. If you could look at her, through 
her, with the eye of science, you would wonder 
how the machinery keeps going. It is worn to 
the last thread, and her poor little heart can 
hardly do its work. Her cheerfulness is in her 
favor. But some moment all will stop. There 
will be little suffering; it is old age, the utter lack 
of vitality. And she’s hardly a dozen years old,” 


2/0 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


She is fifteen — yes, I think she is right, 
though I could hardly believe it at first.” 

That poor little thing ! I hope with all my 
soul there is a heaven where the lost youth is 
made up to these wronged little ones. She has 
been doing a woman’s work on a child’s strength.” 

“ O can nothing save her ? ” cried Virginia 
Deering, with longing desire. “For her life 
might be so happy. She has found friends ” — 

“ It all comes too late. If you should ever be 
tempted to reason away heaven, think of her and 
hundreds like her, and what else shall make 
amends ? I will be in again this afternoon,” 
and he turned away abruptly. 

He met Miss Mary in the lower hall, and left 
her amazed at the intelligence. She came up- 
stairs and found Virginia with her eyes full of 
tears. 

“And I thought last night she looked so im- 
proved. It is so sudden, so unexpected.” 

“ How long .? ” asked Virginia, with a great 
tremble in her voice. 

“Any time, my dear. A day or two, an hour 
may be. We must keep it from the children. So 
many have improved, and no one has died. I 
can’t believe it.” 

“ I want to stay with her,” the girl said in a 
low tone. 


VIRGINIA DEERING 


27 


^‘We shall be so grateful to you. You young 
girls Rre so good to give up your own pleasures, 
and help us in our work.” 

Virginia went back quietly. Dil’s face was 
turned toward the window, and she was listening 
to the children’s voices, as they ran around tu- 
multuously. 

“ They do be havin’ such a good time,” she 
said, with a thrill of satisfaction in her tone. 

I wish you were well enough to join them,” 
Virginia replied softly. 

Dil laughed. “ I’ve been such a big, big girl 
this long time,” she returned with a sense of 
amusement, but no longing in her tone. “ I don’t 
seem to know ’bout playin’ as they do ; for mammy 
had so many babies, an’ Bess was hurted, an’ there 
wasn’t never no room to play in Barker’s Court, 
’count o’ washin’ an’ such. ’Pears like I’d feel 
strange runnin’ an’ careerin’ round like thim,” 
and she made a motion with her head. ‘^I’d 
rather lay here an’ get well. Oh, do you think 
the doctor’ll let me go on Sat’day .? ” 

“My dear, I have written to Mr. Travis. I 
think he will be up then.” 

“ Oh ! ” Such a joyful light illumined the face, 
that Virginia had much ado to keep the tears 
from her own eyes. “You’re so good,” she said 
softly. “Everybody’s so good.” 


2/2 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


“ And the children don’t disturb you ? ” 

“Oh, no ; I like it. I c’n jest shut my eyes ’n’ 
see ‘ Ring around a rosy.’ Oh,” with a long, long 
sigh, “Bess would ’a’ liked it so! I’m so sorry 
she couldn’t come ’n’ see it all, the beautiful 
flowers ’n’ trees ’n’ the soft grass you c’n tumble 
on ’n’ turn summersets as they did yest’day. 
Don’t you s’pose. Miss Deerin’, there’ll be a 
whole heaven for the children by themselves ? 
For /le told me somethin’ ’bout ‘ many mansions ’ 
the Lord Jesus went to fix for thim all. Ain’t it 
queer how things come to you ? ” 


JOHN TRAVIS 


273 


XV 

JOHN TRAVIS 

She lay there quietly all the morning, little 
Dilsey Quinn, trying in her hopeful fashion to 
hurry and get well. It was nicer than the hospi- 
tal, and Miss Deering was so sweet, as she sat 
there crocheting some lovely rose-wheels out of 
pale-blue silk. Now and then some sentences 
flashed between them, and a soft little laugh from 
Dil. Miss Deering felt more like crying. 

The doctor came about three. 

‘‘I’m most well,” said Dil, with her unabated 
cheerfulness. “Only when I raise up somethin’ 
seems tied tight around me here,” putting her 
hand to her side. “ ’N’ you think I c’n be well on 
Sat’day, cause — some one might come ” — 

“ Are you expecting a visitor ” 

“Miss Deerin’ knows. An’ he’s one of the 
sure kind. Yes ; he’ll surely come. An’ if I 
stay in bed all day to-day, don’t you s’pose I’ll be 
well to-morrow ? ” 

“We’ll see. You and Miss Deering seem to 


274 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


be planning secrets. I shall have to look sharp 
after both of you. And who brings you flowers ? ” 
Miss Mary. An’ some custard, an’ oh, Miss 
Deerin’ fed me like as if I was a baby.” 

That’s all right. It’s high time you were 
waited on a little. But I’d like you to take a nap. 
Miss Deering, couldn’t you read her to sleep ? ” 

“ I will try.” 

“ She ought to sleep some,” studying the wide 
eyes. 

“ But I’m not a bit sleepy. Tm thinkin’ ’bout 
when /le comes, an’ how he’ll help me And Bess.” 

“ It is astonishing,” the doctor said down-stairs. 
“ She has some wonderful vitality. It seemed 
this morning as if she couldn’t last an hour, and 
now if she wasn’t all worn out she might re- 
cover. But it is the last flash of the expiring fire. 
Is there some friend to come 

“Yes,” answered Miss Deering with a faint 
flush. 

“She will live till then. If she suffers we 
must try opiates, but we will hardly need, I 
think.” 

“And — the excitement ” — 

“ She will not get excited. She is strangely 
tranquil. Do not disturb her serene hope, what- 
ever it is.” 

The day drew to a close again. Dil asked if 


JOHN TRAVIS 


275 


she was not going to her own bed, and seemed 
quite content. Miss Mary came in early in the 
evening and sent Virginia to bed. She could not 
quite believe the dread fiat. For Dil might be 
made so happy in the years to come. Ah, God, 
must it be too late ? It seemed like the refine- 
ment of cruelty. 

She came back about midnight, but Miss Mary 
motioned her away, and then went out in the hall. 

“You must go to bed in earnest,” she said. 
“ You may be needed more later on. She is very 
quiet ; but she lies there with her eyes wide 
open, as if she were seeing visions. I get a nap 
now and then ; you see. I’m used to this kind of 
work.” 

“ I wish ’twas mornin’,” Dil said toward early 
dawn. “ I want to hear the birds sing an’ the 
children playin’ ; they do laugh so glad an’ com- 
fortin’. An’ I wisht there could be some babies 
tumblin’ round in the sweet grass. They’d like it 
so. Don’t you never have any babies } ” 

“There are other homes for babies,” was the 
reply. 

“ Do you s’pose it’ll ever get all round, — homes, 
an’ care, an’ joy, an’ such.? There’s so many, 
you know. There was little girls in Barker’s 
Court who had to sew, an’ never could go out, not 
even Sundays. When ’twas nice, Bess an’ me 


2/6 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


used to go out on Sat ’days. But the winter froze 
her all up. And the other poor children ” — 

“They will all get here by degrees.” 

“ It’s so good in folks to think of it.” 

“My dear, you must go to sleep.” 

“But I don’t feel sleepy,” and Dil’s face was 
sweet with her serene smile. “There’s so many 
lovely things to think about.” 

“Try a little, to please me.” 

Dilsey shut her eyes and lay very still. Was 
there some mysterious change in the face.^ 

And so dawned another morning. Virginia 
Deering came in with a handful of flowers, which 
she laid beside Dilsey’s cheek on the pillow. 

“ Oh,” the child began in a breathless sort of 
way, “do you think he’ll be here to-morrow, Sat’- 
day Cause I don’t b’l’eve I’d be well ’nuff to go 
down. I don’t seem to get reel rested like. An’ 
you’ll have to send word to Patsey. He wanted 
me to stay a good long while, an’ get fat, an’ I 
want to try.” 

Did she feel sure John Travis would come 
Ah, she would not doubt. She would take the 
child’s sublime faith for her stay. Even if he 
had ceased to care for her, he would not disap- 
point the child who relied so confidently upon his 
word. 


“ Yes, I know he will come.” 


JOHN TRAVIS 


277 


“It’ll be all right, then. An’ I’ll get up to- 
morrow an’ be dressed, an’ go down-stairs all 
strong an’ rested like. An’ I think he’ll know 
about Bess.” 

Virginia bent over and kissed her. 

“Ain’t the children jealous ’cause you stay 
here so much.^* ” she asked presently. “They all 
like you so. An’ they was so glad to see you.” 

“ They do not mind,” she made answer to the 
unselfish child ; “ and I like to stay with you.” 

“ Do you ? I’m glad too,” she said dreamily. 

But now and then she was a little restless. The 
doctor merely looked at her and smiled. But out- 
side he said to Miss Mary, “ I doubt if she goes 
through another njght.” 

“ What shall I do for you ? ” Virginia asked 
later on. There seemed such a wistfulness in the 
eyes turned to the window. 

“It’s queer like, but seems to me as if Bess was 
cornin’. P’raps she’s jes’ found out where I be. 
O Miss Deerin’, are there any wild roses ? I’d 
like to have some for Bess.” 

Virginia glanced up in vague alarm. 

“ I think if I had some Bess would come back. 
’N’ I’m all hungry like to see her.” 

Dil moved uneasily, and worked her fingers with 
a nervous motion. 

“ There have been some over back of the woods 


278 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


there,” and Miss Mary inclined her head. “There 
were in June, I remember.” 

“ I might go and see.” 

“ Oh, will you ? I wisht so I had some.” 

“ The walk will do you good.” There had come 
a distraught look in Virginia’s face. Oh, what if 
John Travis failed ! Even to-morrow might be 
too late. 

“You’ll let the children go with you,” said Dil. 
“ They’ll like it so ; an’ I’ll keep still ’n’ try to go 
to sleep.” 

The old serenity came back with the smile. She 
had learned so many lessons of patience and self- 
denial in the short life, the grand patience per- 
fected through love and sacrifice, the earthly type 
of that greater love. But the sweet little face al- 
most unnerved Virginia. 

The children hailed her with delight, and clung 
so to her gown that she could hardly take a step. 
Perhaps it was their noise that had unconsciously 
worn upon Dil’s very slender nerves. Miss Mary 
read to her awhile, and in the soft, soothing silence 
she fell asleep. 

Yes, she had come to that sign and seal indel- 
ibly stamped on the faces of the “ called.” The 
dread something no word can fitly describe, and 
it was so much more apparent in her sleep. 

“ Miss Mary,” said an attendant, “can you come 
down a moment ? ” 


JOHN TRAVIS 


279 


She guessed without a word when she saw a 
young man standing there with a basket of wild 
roses. But he could not believe the dread fiat 
at first. She had been “ a little ill,” and ‘‘ wasn’t 
strong ” were the tidings that had startled him, 
and she had gone to a home for the “ Little 
Mothers ” to recruit. He had heard some other 
incidents of her sad story, and he remembered 
the children’s pathetic clinging to the wild roses. 
Nothing could give her greater pleasure. 

He walked reverently up the wide, uncarpeted 
steps, beside Miss Mary. Dil was still asleep, or 
— O Heaven ! was she dead ? Miss Mary bent 
over, touched her cool cheek. 

Dil opened her eyes. 

I’ve been asleep. It was so lovely. I’m all 
rested like — why. I’m most well.” 

“ Well enough to see an old friend ? ” 

Oh, the glow in her eyes, the eager, asking ex- 
pression of every feature. She gave a soft, exult- 
ant cry as John Travis emerged from Miss Mary’s 
shadow, and stretched out her hands. 

“ My dear, dear little Dil ! ” 

All the room was full of the faint, delicious 
fragrance of wild roses, kept so moist and shel- 
tered they were hardly conscious of their journey. 
And she lay trembling in two strong arms, so in- 
stinct with vitality, that she seemed to take from 
them a sudden buoyant strength. 


28 o 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


“ I’ve been waitin’ for you so long,” she ex- 
claimed when she found breath to speak. There 
was no reproach in the tone, rather a heavenly 
satisfaction that he had come now. Her trust 
had been crowned with fruition, that was enough. 

My little girl ! ” Oh, surely it could not be 
as bad as they said. The future that he had 
planned for, that he had meant to make pleasant 
and satisfying, and perhaps beautiful, from the 
fervent gratitude of a manly heart. Was she 
beyond anything he could do for her.? Oh, he 
would not believe it ! 

“ I was detained so much longer abroad than 
I expected,” he began. “ And we did not get in 
until Monday morning. I went to Barker’s Court, 
and could not learn where you were. Then I be- 
thought myself of the cop at the square,” smiling 
as he designated the man. 

‘‘ An’ he gev you my letter ? ” 

“He gave me the letter. I hunted up the boys. 
I saw Patsey and Owen last night, and they are 
counting on your getting well. They sent you so 
much love. And to-day I went to Chester. Here 
are your roses.” 

He tumbled them out all dewy from the wet 
papers. Oh, such sweetness ! Dil breathed it in 
ecstatic delight. She had no words. She looked 
her unutterable joy out of her limpid brown eyes, 


JOHN TRAVIS 


281 


and he had much ado to keep the tears from his. 
So pale, so spiritualized, yet so little like Bess, 
and — oh, the last hope died as he took in all the 
signs. For surely, surely she was on the road to 
heaven and Bess. No hand of love, no touch of 
prosperity, could hold her back. 

“ Tears like everything’s come, an’ there ain’t 
nothin’ left to wish for,” she said as he laid her 
down again, and watched the transfigured face. 
For now you c’n tell me ’bout Bess. Mother 
burned up the book one day, an’ we never could 
quite know, only she got crost the river, an’ they 
was all so glad at the pallis. An’ Bess was so 
sure you’d come. The cough was dreadful when 
we didn’t have some good medicine that helped 
her. An’ the lady come one afternoon, ’n’ mammy 
was home ’n’ she was norful sassy to her. You 
see, we hadn’t dast to tell mammy ” — 

“ My poor child ! ” He was toying with the soft, 
tumbled hair. He had heard another side of the 
story, and of Mrs. Quinn’s insulting impudence. 

“ An’ then Bess she smelt the wild roses all 
around one night, an’ thought she was gettin’ 
better — an’ — an’ she jus’ died.” 

“ Yes ; God came for her in the night. He put 
his arms around her, and wrapped her in the 
garment of his great love, and took her through 
the pathway of the stars. She did not feel any 


282 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


cold nor pain, and he gave her a new, glorified 
body, so she could leave the poor old one behind.” 

“But she wouldn’t have leaved me ’thout a 
word, when she loved me so, an’ wanted me to go 
to heaven with her.” 

Dil’s lip quivered, and her chest heaved with 
the effort of keeping back the tears. 

“ My dear child, there are many mysteries that 
one cannot wholly explain. Don’t you remember 
telling me the Mission teacher said it was an 
allegory, a story that is like our daily lives ? We 
are going heavenward in every right and tender 
and loving thing we do. We are the^ children of 
God as well as the children of mortal parents ; 
God gives us the soul, the part of us that is to 
live forever. And when he calls this part of you 
to the heavenly mansions, he gives it the perfect 
new body. The old one is laid- away in the 
ground. When Jesus was here he helped and 
cured people as I told you. But he does not 
come any more. He calls people to him, and 
sends his angels for them. So he said, ‘ It is 
very hard for poor little Bess to wait all winter, to 
suffer with the cold, the pain in her maimed body, 
to be afraid of her mother, to hear the babies cry 
when her head aches. She must come to the land 
of pure delight, and have her new body. She 
must be well and joyous and happy, so that she 


JOHN TRAVIS 283 

can run and greet her sister Dil when I send for 
her.” 

Dilsey Quinn was listening’with rapt attention. 
But at the last words she cried out with tremulous 
eagerness, — 

“Oh, will he send Will he take me to Bess.? 
You are quite sure .? ” 

Her very breath seemed to hang on the answer. 

“ He will send. He has a place for you in the 
many mansions he went to prepare. And this 
little step we take from one world to the other is 
called the river of death, and you know how Chris- 
tiana went through it. Sometimes the Lord Jesus 
lifts people quite over it.” 

There was a long silence. He could see she 
was studying the deep, puzzling points. The 
lines came in her forehead, white as a lily now, 
and her eyes seemed peering into fathomless 
depths. 

Looking into the sweet, wasted face, holding 
the slim little hands, once so plump and brown, 
thinking of the heroic, loving life, he felt that 
indeed “ of such was the kingdom of heaven.” 

“ Well, ’f I c’n go to Bess,” a sigh of heavenly 
resignation seemed to quiver through the frail 
body, “ ’n’ I think the Lord couldn’t help bein’ 
good to Bess, she was so sweet ’n’ patient ; for 
’twas so hard not to run about, ’n’ have to be lifted, 


284 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


’n’ I couldn’t always come on ’count of the babies 
’ll’ mother ’n’ things. ’N’ she never got cross. 
’N’ I do b’lieve she understood ’bout Christiana, 
for after that she wanted so to go to heaven. An’ 
she was so glad about her poor hurted legs bein’ 
made well. We couldn’t read fast, you know ; an’ 
we couldn’t see into things, ’cause we hadn’t been 
to school much. But she kinder picked it out, she 
was such a wise little thing, an’ the pictures helped. 
But I don’t understand ’bout the new body.” 

Her face was one thought of puzzled intensity. 

“ My dear little Dil, we none of us quite under- 
stand. It is a great mystery. The' Lord Jesus 
came down from heaven and was born a little 
child that children might not be afraid of him, 
but learn to love him. When he grew to man- 
hood he helped the needy, the suffering, and 
healed their illnesses. He went about doing good 
to everybody, and there were people who did not 
believe in him and treated him cruelly.” How 
could he explain the great sacrifice to her compre- 
hension.? “Dil,” he said in a low tone, “suppose 
you could have saved Bess great sorrow and suf- 
fering by dying for her, would you not have done 
it.? Suppose that night the Lord Jesus had said 
to you, ‘ I can only take one of you to-night, 
which one shall it be.?’ What would you have 
done .? ” 


JOHN TRAVIS 


285 


“ Oh, I’d let her gone. Was it that way } ” 
The tears stood in her eyes, and her voice 
trembled with tenderest emotion. 

“ God loves us all as you loved Bess. But we 
do not all love him. We are not ready to do the 
things he tells us, to be truthful and honest and 
kindly. But he is ready to forgive us to the very 
last. And he knows what is best for us.” 

“ Then that other body went to heaven,” she 
said after a long silence. “ An’ I know now she 
must have been in some lovely place, ’cause that 
Sunday she come to me in Cent’l Park she was all 
smilin’ an’ strange an’ sweet, an’ beautiful like 
that picture you made. She looked jes’ ’s if she 
wanted to tell me somethin’. An’ the Lord Jesus 
let her out of heaven ’cause I was so lost like ’n’ 
uncertain.” 

The small face was illumined with joy. And 
to John Travis it was as the face of an angel. 

He owed her so much. Again had God chosen 
the weak things of the world to confound the 
mighty. He thought of that other soul whose 
throes he had watched ; whose guide-posts of 
science and philosophy had shed no light on the 
unknown hereafter ; and how both of them had at 
last become little children in the faith. For when 
he promised to go to heaven with Bess and Dilsey 
Quinn, he meant to search out the way of truth if 


286 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


such a thing was possible. His had been a slower 
and more toilsome way, but Dil had seen and be- 
lieved, and was among the blessed already. And 
he had come to a realization of the higher truths, 
not according to the lights of human knowledge, 
but faith in the Lord Jesus. 

“I shall be so glad to see Bess. I’m most 
worn out an’ wasted away longin’ for her. But 
when I see her all straight an’ strong an’ lovely 
in heaven. I’ll feel rested right away. I d’n’ 
know how the Lord Jesus can care so much ’bout 
poor sick folks, when there’s so many splendid 
people.” 

“Just as you cared for Bess.” 

“Oh, was that the way.^” Her smile had the 
radiance of the everlasting knowledge. “ But 
you see. I’d had Bess alwers an’ loved her, ’n’ he 
didn’t know much about us, stowed away there in 
Barker’s Court. So he’s better ’n any folks. He 
had all that lovely heaven, an’ he didn’t need to 
come down. He must have loved people uncom- 
mon. It was like your stoppin’ that day an’ 
talkin’ to us poor little mites. Why, ’twas jes’ if 
you’d made a new splendid world for us ! ” 

She stopped a moment and drew some long 
breaths. Then an eager light flashed across her 
face. 

“ Oh ! ” she cried, “ I’ve found the lady who 


JOHN TRAVIS 


287 


gev the wild roses to Patsey that day. She’s 
here, ’n’ all the children are jes’ crazy ’bout her. 
An’ she told me ’bout the picture you put me in. 
She said you’d be sure to come.” 

“ She } Who ? ” John Travis was momentarily 
bewildered. 

‘‘Miss Deerin’, Miss Virginia Deerin’. Ain’t 
it a pretty name } An’ she knows all ’bout that 
beautiful place of roses. I was hankerin’ so for 
some, an’ she went out to see ’f she could find 
any. I couldn’t know you’d bring me such a 
lovely lot. Don’t you know how Bess alwers 
b’l’eved you’d come, an’ she b’l’eves jes’ that way. 
An’ she likes you so.” 

“Virginia Deering ! ” John Travis said under 
his breath, his whole frame athrill with subtle 
emotion, “what makes you think she likes me } ” 
he asked softly. 

“ Oh, can’t you tell it in any one’s voice } An’ 
their eyes get soft an’ strange, ’s if they were 
lookin’ ’way off, an’ saw the other one cornin’, 
jes’ ’s Bess come to me that day.” 

Then Dil raised a little and glanced out of the 
window, listened smilingly. 

“ She’s come back. That’s her voice. An’ oh, 
won’t she be glad to see you an’ the heaps an’ 
heaps of wild roses ! ” 


288 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


XVI 

ACROSS THE RIVER 

Virginia Deering put by the children’s cling- 
ing hands. Her mission had not been very suc- 
cessful. In one shady depth she had found a 
cluster of belated roses, their mates having blos- 
somed and gone. But the children had enjoyed a 
rare pleasure. 

She came up with a sort of reverent hesitation. 
She had been thinking of the journey “ betwixt 
this and dawn,” and trying with weak hands to 
push it farther and farther off, as we always do. 
Miss Mary had gone to the infirmary. The room 
was so still ; then a soft, glad cry trembled on 
the air, — 

“ He’s come. Miss Deerin’ ! An’ oh, you won’t 
mind, but he’s been to that wild rose place, an’ I 
think he’s brought them all to me. Look, look ! ” 
and she stretched out her little hands. 

Virginia paused, hesitated, her sweet face flush- 
ing and paling, as John Travis turned. He was 
not sure he had made up his mind to any certain 


ACROSS THE RIVER 


289 


Step ; but, having found her here, he was certain 
he should never let her go again in this mortal 
life. 

Did it make any difference here in this sacred 
hour who had sinned ? Could not even suffering 
love fold about another the garment of forgive- 
ness ? He took a step forward ; she seemed to 
draw near by some inward volition, and stretched 
out her hands beseechingly. The sorrow and pain 
were ended. Was not love too sacred a thing to 
be bruised and wounded by trifles that should have 
been forgiven and forgotten as soon as uttered ? 

“ Virginia,” in a breathless sort of whisper. He 
stooped and kissed the quivering lips, and caught 
the tenderness of tear-blinded eyes. 

Little Dil, may / have Miss Deering’s roses ? ” 
and he took them in his hand. 

I only found a few,” in a faltering voice. 

“ But he’s brought me hundreds. I’m most 
buried in roses. An’, Miss Virginia, I told him 
you’d be so glad. An’ it’s all as you said, only I 
couldn’t feel quite sure till Ae come. The Lord 
Jesus did take Bess to heaven that night ; but he 
left me ’cause there was somethin’ for me to do. 
It’s all gettin’ plain to me, only I ain’t bright to 
see into things quick. But you can’t both be 
mistook. An’ now I’m all bright an’ happy.” 

Did Virginia Deering say a year ago that she 


290 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


should always hate wild roses ? She buried her 
face in them now, so that no one should see her 
tears. God had led this little human wild rose in 
the pathway of both. It had grown in the world’s 
wilderness, and learned how to bloom out of its 
own generous heart. To her it was the lesson of 
her whole life. 

Dilsey Quinn smiled. She knew nothing about 
love and lovers ; but the atmosphere was sweet 
and cordial, and she felt that. 

Virginia began to arrange some of the roses in 
a bowl, with the nervous desire of occupation. 

“ Please put thim here on the sill,” pleaded 
Dilsey. “ That’s the way Bess had thim. An’ I 
told him how you gev thim to Patsey.” 

John Travis gave a soft, quaint smile, and took 
a small case from an inside pocket. There were 
some poor little withered buds between the 
leaves. All the color had gone out of them, all 
the fragrance. 

“ You gave them to me,” he said. “Do you re- 
member ? Bess had them in her hand.” 

Dilsey’s eyes filled with tears. Virginia leaned 
over and looked at them, strangely moved. Then 
he laid the few she had gathered beside them. 

“I’m jes’ happy all through,” Dil said with 
shining eyes. 

Miss Mary came up with some broth, 


Across the river ^gt 

‘‘ ’Pears like I don’t never want anythin’ to eat 
again ; but you’re all so good. An’ now I’m goin’ 
to get well, though sometimes I want to see Bess 
so. An’ I’d be sorry to go ’way from Patsey. 
Owen’s gettin’ to be such a nice boy. Patsey 
keeps him straight. I d’know who’d look after 
thim.” 

John Travis turned and gave her a rare, com- 
forting smile. He owed her so much earthly and 
heavenly happiness ; and he realized with a pang 
of anguish that she could never be repaid in this 
world. Had God noted the labor and love of this 
poor, unknown life, and written it in his Book, 
— the heroism so simply worked out, with no 
thought of self to mar any of it ? 

Miss Mary sent them down to supper. 

“ I am so thankful you had my letter in time,” 
Virginia said softly. We did not think then ” — 

She turned scarlet under his gaze. 

Your letter ! Oh, did you write.? My darling, 
thank you! You shame me with your trust, your 
sweet readiness to forgive. But I have hardly 
been at home these two days. I think,” and his 
voice fell to a reverent inflection, ‘Hhat God was 
watching over it all, and guiding our steps. It is 
a long story, and some day you shall hear it all, 
but in infinite pathos Dilsey Quinn’s far exceeds 
it. Our whole lives will be more sacred to us for 


^9^ IN WILD-ROSE TIME 

this remembrance. But I cannot bear to have 
her go. Is it as the nurse said.?” 

Virginia made a sign with her bowed head. 

“ I hoped so to give her a better, brighter life. 
I left a little work for her in the hands of a 
friend, and it came to naught. But perhaps — 
God’s love must be wiser than our human plans, 
and his love is greater. We must rest content 
with that. But she has been an evangel to 
me.” 

Miss Mary bathed the face and hands of her 
invalid in some fragrant water. She had con- 
sidered Dil a rather dull and uninteresting child 
at first ; but her pitiful story that had come to 
light in fragments, her passionate love for her 
little “ hurted ” sister, and her wild dream of 
going to heaven, had moved them all immeasur- 
ably. The cheerful sweetness would have de- 
ceived any but practised eyes, and even now Dil 
seemed buoyed up by her delicious happiness. 

“Won’t they come back.?” she asked presently, 
with a touch of longing in her voice. 

“ Yes, dear.” 

“ Td like him to stay.” 

“ Yes, he shall stay.” 

The household had not been disturbed by the 
near approach of the awesome visitant. The 
children had not missed her, since she had 


ACROSS THE RIVER 293 

brought no gayety to them, but rathe-r grudged 
Miss Virginia to her. They were at their supper 
now. How easily they had forgotten the hard- 
ships of their lives ! 

Virginia and John Travis entered presently. 
The soft summer night fell about them, as they 
sat watching the frail little body, so wasted that 
its vitality was fast ebbing. She talked in quaint, 
disjointed snatches, piecing the year’s story to- 
gether with a pathos almost heart-breaking in its 
very simplicity. Her trust in him had been so 
perfect. 

I don’t know what’s ’come o’ mother,” she 
said, after one of the silences. “But Bess ’n’ 
me’ll tell the Lord Jesus ’bout her, ’n’ mebbe he 
can do somethin’ that’ll keep her ’way from Mrs. 
MacBride’s, ’cause she wasn’t so bad before she 
took to goin’ there. I’ve been so feared of her 
all the time, but I don’t feel feared no more. 
Bess said we shouldn’t when you came back, and 
wisht your name had been Mr. Greatheart. We 
liked him so. But they’ve all gone wrong in 
Barker’s Court. Oh, can’t some one set thim 
right an’ straight, an’ bring thim outen the trouble 
an’ drinkin’ an’ heatin’, an’ show thim the way ? 
It’s jes’ like thim folks leavin’ the City of De- 
struction. An’ oh, we’ve all come out of it, Owny 
an’ little Dan. Maybe mother’ll find the way.” 


294 IN WILD-ROSE TiMfi 

We’ll find her and try to show her,” said John 
Travis, with a voice full of emotion. 

‘‘Oh, will you.?” There was a satisfying de- 
light in her tone: “ An’ the boys .? If some 
one’d look after thim, I think I’d like to go to 
Bess. Do you b’l’eve the Lord Jesus would come 
an’ take me if I ast him .? Seems so long since I 
had Bess.” 

“ I think he will,” Travis said, in a tone he 
tried to keep steady. 

“ I ain’t pritty, like Bess, an’ I can’t sing.” 

“But you will sing there. And you will love 
the Saviour. That is all he asks.” 

“ I can’t seem to understand how he could be 
so good to poor folks. An’ I don’t see why they 
ain’t all jes’ wild to love Him. Tell me some 
more ’bout his cornin’ down from heaven to help 
thim.” 

With the little hand in his, he told the wider, 
greater story of the Saviour’s love, — how he had 
come to redeem, to sanctify all future suffering in 
his own, to give himself a ransom. And even 
now Travis’s mind reverted to the hours of dis- 
cussion with his cousin. Ah, how could he have 
brought bread to that famishing soul, that had fed 
so long on the husks of the world’s wisdom, but 
for the afternoon with the children, the meeting 
with the Lord Jesus in the way. 


ACROSS THE RIVER 


295 


The moon came up and flooded the room with 
softened splendor, the summer night was fragrant 
with exquisite odors. Almost it seemed as if the 
very heavens were opened. The wide eyes were 
full of wordless rapture, and a great content 
shone in the ethereal face. 

Then Dilsey moved about restlessly. 

“ My little Dil, what can I do for you ? ” he 
asked with tender solicitude. 

A strange shudder seemed to run over her. 
Was it a premonition ? 

“I wish you’d take me in your strong arms ’n’ 
hold me. ’Pears if I’d like to be dost to some 
one, just sheltered like. An’ you an’ Miss Vir- 
ginia sing ’bout ‘The rivers of delight.’ ” 

John Travis lifted her up. She was so small 
and light; a child who was never to know any 
earthly joy or hope of girlhood, who would learn 
all the blessedness of life in the world to come. 
Virginia folded the soft blanket about her, and 
her face rested against the shoulder that would 
have been glad to bear a far heavier burthen for 
her. He took the cool little hands in his, and 
noted the fluttering, feeble pulse, the faint, irreg- 
ular beating of the tired heart against his. 

Sometimes both voices came to a pause through 
emotion. He remembered the other scene in the 
stuffy little room, and could see Bess’s enraptured 
face. 


296 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


Then Dilsey Quinn gave a little start, and 
raised her head, turning her eyes to him. 

“ I c’n understand it all now,” she said joy- 
ously. “The Lord Jesus wanted me to wait till 
you come back, so I could tell Bess. An’, Miss 
Virginia, she’ll be so glad to know who gave the 
wild roses to Patsey. An’ you promised her — 
you’d come. We was all goin’ to heaven — to- 
gether” — 

The head dropped. The heart was still. The 
labor of the hands was done. The slow brain 
had the wisdom of the stars. But her eyes still 
kept the subtle glory ; a radiance not of this 
world shone in. her face as she left the night 
behind her and stepped into the dawn of ever- 
lasting life. 

“She has seen Bess.” 

Then John Travis laid her reverently on the cot, 
and sprinkled a baptism of roses over her. The 
two left behind, clasped hands, their whole lives 
sanctified by the brave sweetness and devotion of 
this one gone up to God. 

No one told the “ little mothers ” that one of 
their number lay up-stairs in Miss Mary’s room 
waxen white and still in her last sleep. They 
sang and played and ran and shouted, perhaps 
jangled as well. Death often met them in the by- 


ACROSS THE RIVER 29/ 

ways of the slums, but in this land of enchant- 
ment they were not looking for it. Their holidays 
were brief enough ; their days of toil and depriva- 
tion stretched out interminably. How could they 
sorrow for this pale, quiet little girl, who had not 
even played with them ? 

In the afternoon John Travis brought up Patsey 
and Owen, who were stunned by the unlooked-for 
tidings. Dil had on her white frock, Patsey’s 
gift, that had been both pride and pleasure to 
him. 

Owen looked at her steadily and in great awe, 
winking hard to keep back the tears. Patsey 
wiped his away with his coat-sleeve. 

“Ther’ wasn’t ever no girl like Dil Quinn,” he 
said brokenly. She was good as gold through 
and through. Nobody never loved any one as 
she loved Bess. Seems like she couldn’t live 
a’thout her. O mister, do you think ther’s railly 
a heaven as they preach ’bout ? Fer if ther’ is, 
Dilly Quinn an’ Bess are angels, sure as sure. An’ 
Owen, we’ve got to be tip top, jes’ ’s if she was 
watchin’ us all the time. But it’s norful to think 
she can’t never come down home to us.” 

He leaned over and kissed the thin hands, and 
then sobbed aloud. But all his life long the 
tender remembrance followed him. 

In a corner of the pretty burying-ground where 


298 


IN WILD-ROSE TIME 


they laid her, there is a simple marble shaft, with 
this quaint, old-fashioned inscription : — 

' “Sacred to the Memory of 
BESS AND DILSEY QUINN.” 

For, even if Bess is elsewhere in an unknown 
grave, her unfailing and sweetest remembrance is 
here with Dilsey. 

And in one home in the city, made beautiful 
by love and earnest endeavor, and a wide, kindly 
charity that never wearies in the Master’s work 
for the poor, the sinful, and the unthankful, there 
hangs a picture that Patsey Muldoon adores. It 
is Dilsey Quinn idealized, as happiness and health 
might have made her. The sunrise gleam in her 
eyes stirs one with indescribable emotion. She 
looks out so bravely sweet, so touched and in- 
formed by the most sacred of all knowledges. 
The high courage is illumined by the love that 
considered not itself ; the tenderness seems to say, 
“ to the uttermost,” through pain and toil and 
discouragements ; never quenched in the darkest 
of times, but, even when blown about by adverse 
winds, still lighting some soul. The face seems 
ripened to bloom and fragrance, and speaks of a 
heavenly ministry begun when the earthly was 
laid down. 

And the old story comes true oftener than we 


ACROSS THE RIVER 


299 


think. Two put in the garden to keep and dress 
it, to watch over the little wild roses of adverse 
circumstances, crowded out of even the space and 
the sun needed to grow rightfully, out of the 
freshness and dew of happiness, yet making their 
way up from noisome environments, and struggling 
for the light and human care to fit them for the 
Garden of the Lord. 

And these two, who go on their way in reunited 
love, understand the mystery of Dilsey Quinn’s 
short life, and that the strange fine threads that 
connect us here are so many chords of the greater 
harmony of human love in its redemption. All 
their days will be hallowed by its tender remem- 
brance, their work more fervent, their faith more 
enduring. 

And thus it came to pass that the little bruised 
flowers of the slums lived not in vain. 




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It sparkles with wit, it is liquid with humor, it has the unmistakable touch 
of nature, and it has a procession of characters like a novel of Scott; indeed, 
in many ways it recalls that great master. There is less description and more 
action in it than is habitual with Scott, and the conception of some of its sec- 
ondary characters, such as the crazy-brained Edward Longman, would not be 
unworthy of him. 

Neighbors’ AVives, By J. T. Trowbridge. Price $1.50. 

An ingenious and well-told story. Two neighbors’ wives are tempted beyond 
their strength to resist, and steal each from the other. One is discovered in 
the act under ludicrous and humiliating circumstances, but is generously par- 
doned with — a promise of secrecy. Of course she betrays her secret, and 
perplexities come. « 

Coupon Bonds. By J. T. Trowbridge. Price, cloth, $1.50; 
paper, 50 cents. 

“ ‘ Coupon Bonds ’ is undoubtedly one of the best short stories eyer published 
in this country. It is a most happy and felicitous stroke. It is brimful of the 
very best quality of humor, — the humor that grows naturally out of the char- 
acter and the situation, and it moves along briskly, without aiw urging or 
pushing by the author. It is full of incident, full of character, full of novel 
and ludicrous surprises and situations; and, if it could be composed into a 
three-act comedy, would be as irresistible in its way as Shkridan’s ‘ School for 
Scandal.’ ” — Scribner's Monthly. 

Cudjo’s Cave. By J. T. Trowbridge. Price, cloth, $1.50; 

paper, 50 cents. 

Mr. Trowbridge’s readers are accustomed to plenty of lively incidents and 
exciting adventures, and in this volume the supply is surely abundant. The 
story opens with the adventures of a Quaker schoolmaster in I'ennessee pre- 
vious to the opening of the late war, and the exciting scenes attendant upon 
the opening of the great struggle between North and South are portrayed in a 
graphic manner. Many of the chapters recall the stories .of thrilling adven- 
ture that were current in war times. 

Three Scouts. By J. T. Trowbridge. Price, cloth, $1.50; 

paper, 50 cents. 

This story is a companion to “ Cudjo’s Cave ” and “ The Drummer Boy,” in 
being a narrative of stormy events in the Civil War, when the army of the 
Cumberland, under Rosecrans, and the Confederate forces, under Bragg, were 
battling with each other in 1S62. Yet it is complete in itself as a story. 

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The Drummer Boy. By J. T. Trowbridge. Illustrated. 
Price $1.50. 

The author of this book is so famous as a story-writer, that another excellent 
one is only what all his readers expect. It is a story of the late war, and of a boy 
who went into the army as a drummer, and who, from the good instructions of 
a fond and noble mother, sought to impart to his rude and reckless companions 
some of the good of his own character. 

FarnelPs Folly. By J. T. Trowbridge. Price $1.50. 

All the sterling; qualities which have placed Mr. Trowbridge among' the 
foremost of American novelists are to be found in this new romance. It is not 
a short story or series of sketches that may be “ devoured ” in an hour, but, 
as the number of its pages testify, a full-blooded romance, alive with incident, 
and overflowing with interest. 

Martin Merrivale: His X Mark. By J. T. Trowbridge. 
Price $1.50. 

^ This story of New England life abounds in passages of rare humor and 
pathos. Not even in “Coupon Bonds” nor in “Neighbor Jackwood” has 
Trowbridge created characters better fitted to give him enduring fame. No 
one can read the story without seeing that the author has put his whole soul in 
it. On his last page, he says, and evidently in all sincerity, that he has 
written it, “ not for fame, still less for fortune, but all for love.” 


OLIVER OPTIC’S NOVELS 

Three Millions; or, The Way of the World. By William 
T. Adams (Oliver Optic). Price, cloth, $1.50; paper, 50 
cents. 

The book furnishes a most romantic, and, withal, a most instructive illustra- 
tion of the way of the world in its false estimate of money. All who read the 
first chapter, entitled “ Three Millions,” will not be satisfied until they have 
read the thirty-five chapters, terminating with “ The Last of the Three 
Millions.” 

Living too Fast. By William T. Adams (Oliver Optic). 
Price $1.50. 

This is the best novel of a fascinating writer. It is full of incidents of a 
fast life, and of the expedients to keep up appearances, resulting in crime, 
remorse, and the evil opinion of all good men. The narrative is replete with 
startling situations, temptations, ana all the elements of a thrilling story. 

In Doors and Ont. By William T. Adams (Oliver Optic). 
Price $1.50. 

This volume contains about thirty bright and interesting stories of domestic 
life, directed against the follies and foibles of the age. They are written in a 
kindly, genial style, and with a sincere purpose to promote happiness, good 
feeling, and right dealing in domestic, business, and social relations. 


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DOUGLAS FKAZAR’S BOOKS 

Berseveraiice Island j or, The Robinson Crusoe of the 
Nineteenth Century. By Douglas Frazar. Fully 
illustrated. Price $1.50. 

This is the story of a Robinson Crusoe who did not have the good fortune 
of his prototype, in having the materials of his wreck at hand, with his powder 
dry, and with calm weather; but thrown ashore, naked and alone, by the use 
of his brain and the skill of his hands, this Vermont Yankee surpassed the 
achievements of his predecessors, surrounding himself with implements of 
power and science beyond their reach. He met with all sorts of romantic 
adventure, including a fight with a sea-serpent. At last he secured help by 
sending his appeal for it by a balloon. 

The Log* of the Maryland. By Douglas Frazar. Illus- 
trated. Price $1.50. 

Sea stories told in the quiet, old-fashioned manner are rare; and the sailors 
who can tell of an old-fashioned China voyage are now so few that Mr. Douglas 
Frazar’s “ Log of the Maryland ” has more value to-day than it would have 
had forty years ago. The author’s pride in his profession and in his fellow- 
sailors is almost as old-fashioned as “ The Maryland ” herself, but very 
agreeable to encounter in these more matter-of-fact days. Youths who mean 
to be sailors, and men who have followed the sea, will delight in the “ Log.” 


3IARY FARLEY SANBORN’S NOVELS 

Sweet and Twenty. By Mary Farley Sanborn. Price 
cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents. 

” ‘ Sweet and Twenty’ is one of the prettiest, most spontaneous, and natural 
of the summer novels for the hammock and piazza. It is entirely wholesome 
and refreshing, and a welcome deviation from the usual run of such literature, 
which is generally either fast, morbid and unhealthy, or silly, flippant, and 
dull. The four young people about whom the story centres are in no way 
remarkable; but their doings and sayings are thoroughly bright and amusing, 
and although we are convinced from the beginning that the tangles will all be 
straightened out in the good old way, there is yet sufficient doubt to keep up 
the interest through every chapter .” — Journal of Education. 

It came to Pass. By Mary Farley Sanborn. Price, cloth, 
$1.00; paper, 50 cents. 

” It came to Pass ” tells a simple, but thoroughly interesting, story, with all 
of the grace and freshness that marked the author’s earlier novel and won for 
it so large a share of popular favor. The characters are cleverly sketched, 
especially that of the heroine, which is charmingly conceived and skilfully 
developed. The brightness of the book, and the purity of its tone, and the 
unconventionality of its plot cannot fail to win for it as hearty and deserved a 
reception as attended ” Sweet and Twenty.” 

Paula Ferris. By Mary Farley Sanborn. Price, cloth, 
$1.25; paper, 50 cents. 

The writing shows mastery of English, as well as broadening of mind, and 
accumulated experience. The reader at once feels confidence in his guide, and 
follows the story without question. 

The heroine is (naturally) a fine woman, but with a foible; and, having 
allowed herself to be admired, is dangerously near falling. With the shifting 
of the scene to a northern region, and the coming in of a gruff and powerful 
male cousin, the temperature falls, serenity returns, and peace with honor 
reigns. It will be a charming book to read at the sea-shore, or in a hammock, 
or under a shading tree in the country. 


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Nelly Kinnard’s King’doni. By Amanda M. Douglas. 
Price, cloth, $1.50; paper, 50 cents. 

“ Nelly Endicott, a bright, lively girl, marries Dr. Kinnard, a widower with 
two children. On going to her husband’s home, she finds installed there 
a sister of his first wife (Aunt Adelaide, as she is called by the children), 
who is a vixen, a maker of trouble, and a nuisance of the worst kind. Most 
young wives would have had such a pest put out of the house, but Nelly 
endures the petty vexations to which she is subjected, in a manner which 
shows the beauty and strength of her character. How she surmounted the 
difficulty, it would not be fair to state.” — JVezv York Evening Mail. 

From Hand to Mouth. By Amanda M. Douglas. Price $1.50. 

“This is a thoroughly good, true, pure, sweet, and touching story. It covers 
precisely those phases of domestic life which are of the most common expe- 
rience, and will take many and many of its readers just where they have been 
themselves. There is trouble in it, and sorrow, and pain, and parting, but the 
sunset glorifies the clouds of the varied day, and the peace which passes 
understanding pervades all. For young women whose lives are just opening 
into wifehood and maternity, we have read nothing better for many a day.” — 
Literary World. 

A Modern Adam and Eve in a Oarden, By Amanda M. 
Douglas. Price $1.50. 

Bright, amusing, and sensible. A story of two people who set out to win 
their share of the world’s wealth, and how they did it; which, as a critic says, 
“ is rather jolly and out-of-door-y, and ends in a greenhouse,” — with some love 
and pathos, of course, and much practical knowledge. 

The Old Woman who lived in a Shoe, By Amanda M. 
Douglas. Price $1.50. 

This is not a child’s story, nor a comic view of household life, — as some 
might think from its title — but a domestic novel, full of the delights of home, 
of pure thoughts, and gentle virtues. It has also sufficient complications to 
keep the thread of interest draw7i^ and to lead the reader on. Among Miss 
Douglas* many successful books, there is none more beautiful or attractive, or 
which leaves a more permanent impression. 

Claudia. By Amanda M. Douglas. Price $1.50. 

This is a romantic story, with abundant incidents and strong situations. 
The interest is intense. It concerns two half sisters, whose contrasted charac- 
ter and complicated fortunes are the charm of the book. 

Seven Daughters. By Amanda M. Douglas. Price $1.50. 

The “ Seven ” are daughters of a country clergyman who is not greatly blessed 
with the good things of the world. The story is related by the eldest, who 
considers herself far from brilliant or witty, but who makes charming pictures 
of all who figure in the book. The good minister consents to receive a number 
of bright boys as pupil-boarders, and the two families make a suggestive 
counterpoise, with mutual advantage. Destiny came with the coming of the 
boys, and the story has naturally a happy end. 

The Foes of her Household. By Amanda M. Douglas. 
Price $1.50. 

“This is an exceedingly entertaining book. A simple girl, of beautiful 
character, marries a young man in poor health out of pure love, and ignorant 
of the fact that he is rich. His death occurs not very long after the marriage, 
and the young widow becomes the object of practical persecution by his rela- 
tives, who misunderstand her motives entirely. With a nobility of character, 
as rare as beautiful, she destroys their prejudice, and at last teaches them to 
love her.” — Ce?itral Baptist, St. Louis, Mo. 


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Wie Fortunes of the Faradays* By Amanda M. Douglas. 
Price $1.50. 

“ Miss Amanda M. Douglas is a prolific writer of novels, and her circle of 
readers is flatteringly larg-e. Her works are full of spirited action, and are, 
»noreover, wholesome in tone and purpose. ‘The Fortunes of the Faradays’ 
is the latest product of her pen, and is of equal merit with her other books. It 
is a story of family life, full of sweet, home pictures, and fair, lovable, and 
verj human personages.” — Commonwealth. 

Ill Trust. Bj Amanda M. Douglas. Price, cloth, $1.50; paper, 
50 cents. 

A young doctor, two weeks before his intended marriage, has, through his 
father’s sudden death, a family of half brothers and sisters thrown upon his 
charge. He sets himself to the task of rearing these children, — a task in which 
he is opposed by his affianced bride. A separation ensues : not to his loss. 

” Miss Douglas has a rare gift for portraying domestic life, and she has never 
used it to better purpose than in the story now issued. It is full of incident 
and variety, holds up a high ideal, and carries it out in the action of the story, 
so that one cannot read the narrative without an impulse to live for a purpose, 
and ^o cultivate the highest and best qualities that make true men and women.” 
— Providence yournal. 

Iiarry: The $2,000 Prize Story. By Amanda M. Douglas. 
Price, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents. 

There is always a certain fascination in witnessing the development of a 
noble nature; and Larry ” becornes a rare specimen of an ingenuous, modest, 
and high-spirited young man. The scenery of his Western home is vividly 
depicted, and the people with whom his lot is cast become real men and women 
under the author’s creative touches. Its incidents are wholly within probable 
limits, yet they afford an unusual opportunity for dramatic effects, and for the 
contrasts which are the life of a novel. 

Betliia Wray’s New Name. By Amanda M. Douglas. 
Price, cloth, $1.50. 

The story is full of movement, and oZ natural, lively incident; and the fortunes 
of the heroine and her friends will be followed with absorbing interest. Bethia’s 
‘‘New Name” results from her intellectual and moral development. Miss 
Douglas is a born story-teller; and in this volume she has given a charm to 
the narration which will be felt by every reader, and will greatly advance her 
already high reputation. 

In the King’s Country. By Amanda M. Douglas. A 
Christian Endeavor story. Cloth, $1.50. (In press.) 

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VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND’S BOOKS 

A Boston Girl’s Ambition. By Virginia F. Townsend. 
Price $1.50. 

“ This is a grand story, grandly told. The little mists which went to make up 
the shadows of the years in the lives of two young people, the suiferings and 
privations of Dorrice and Carryl, their struggle upward, and the happiness 
which smiled upon them at the end of the struggle, will cause the story to 
linger long in the minds and hearts of its readers.” — Washingto7i Chronicle. 

That Queer Girl. By Virginia F. Townsend. Price $1.50. 

The “ Queer Girl ” is a charming character, and so is Rowan, the real hero. 
She is “queer” only in being unconventional, brave, and frank, — “an old- 
fashioned girl.” The girls who follow her history, and that of her pleasant 
companions, are sure of being delightfully entertained; and they may, if they 
will, take a lesson from brave, unselfish Madeline. 

Daryll Gap. By Virginia F. Townsend. Price $1,50. 

The celebrity of Virginia F. Townsend as an authoress, her brilliant 
descriptive powers, and pure, vigorous imagination, will insure a hearty wel- 
come for the above-entitled volume, written in the writer’s happiest vein. 

“ A story of the petroleum days, and of a family who struck oil. Her plots 
are well arranged, and her characters are clearly and strongly drawn.” — 
Pittsburg Recorder. 

Benox Dare. By Virginia F. Townsend. Price $1.50. 

A story of New England people, and of life associated with Hampton 
Beach and its vicinity. The plot is natural and well treated, and the senti- 
ments pure. The story is very entertaining, and, to the thoughtful reader, 
instructive and stimulating. 

A Woman’s Word, and how she kept it. By Virginia F. 
Townsend. Price $1.50. 

“This is a thoroughly charming story, natural, wholesome, and extremely 
interesting. The heroine is a delightful creation, and all the dramatis personcB 
are remarkably well drawn. It is pleasant to come across a novel so entirely 
worthy of praise, and we commend it without reserve to all our readers.” — 
Charleston News. 

Mostly Marjorie Day. By Virginia F. Townsend. Price, 
cloth, $1.50; paper, 50 cents. 

In this book, there is the endeavor of a noble and lovable girl to escape from 
the conventionalities which fettered her life, and engage in some serious duty. 
She became a nurse, and, in the end, had her exceeding great reward. It is a 
bright, spirited, and sometimes delicately humorous story, with a well managed 
plot, and life-like characters. 

But a Philistine. By Virginia F. Townsend. Price $1.50. 

One of the most pleasing works of this author. It is a story of natural 
thoughts rather than events; and it is the author’s unique coupling of passive 
subject and vigorous style that gives the work its attractive quality. The 
characters are strong, and several of the scenic descriptions have the true ring 
of poetic appreciation, while in conversational passages the diction is bright, 
pleasing, and varied. 


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The Deering’S of Medbury. Bj Virginia F. Townsend. 
Price $1.00. 

As a writer of sweet, refined fiction, instinct with noble ideals, and pervaded 
by a spirit of aspiration toward all that is pure and lovely and of good report, 
Virginia F. Townsend is unsurpassed. ^She is a poet of nature, and she 
weaves her beautiful thoughts and dreams into story after story, all character- 
ized by an artistic touch, and by uplifting, spiritual ideals of life. 

Only Girls. By Virginia F. Townsend. Price $1.50. 

In this charming story, uncle Richard says, “ There never was a true or 
noble deed in the world, without some woman or girl was at the bottom of it; ” 
and upon this idea the author has shown how great is the influence which a 
cousin or sister can have over her companions who are just starting to seek 
their fortunes in the world. Temptations may lead them astray, but repentance 
will follow, as the remembrance of a gentle, loving friend comes like a ray of 
light to dispel the clouds of darkness. 

The Hollands, By Virginia F. Townsend. Price $1.00. 

A new issue of a novel of long ago, and will be gladly hailed by the man 
readers of this interesting writer. 

This is one of Miss Townsend’s best efforts. Her appreciation of the best 
side of human nature, her pure, moral tone, and her unquestioned literary skill, 
— upon these qualities her popularity rests secure. There are some stirring 
scenes in this book. 

Six in All. By Virginia F. Townsend. Price $1.00. 

Most readers who take up this book will be very reluctant to lay it down 
again before the last page is read. Of the “ Six in All,” three are men; one of 
them rich in worldly possessions, but poor at the outset in some other and more 
desirable things. The other two are every-day, commonplace sort of people, 
in whose affairs the reader is much interested at the very start. Miss Town- 
send gives an entertaining story, and teaches a wholesome lesson. She puts 
into the mouths of her characters some utterances calculated to deepen and 
strengthen one’s faith in the better principles. 

The Mills of Tuxbury. By Virginia F. Townsend. Price 
$1.00. 

A story which long since received its seal of public approval by great popu- 
larity, but which for some time has been out of print. It is now republished in 
a neat and attractive form to meet a constant inquiry for the author’s produc- 
tions. The story is pure and elevating, written in a natural, flowing style, and 
has situations of thrilling interest. 

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SOPHIE MAY’S BOOKS (Rebecca S. Clarke) 

Her Friend’s Liover. By Sophie May. Price, cloth, $1.25; 
paper, 50 cents. 

“ There is a freshness and beauty about the love-making', a charming reticence 
which is delightful. The story is thoroughly unconventional, and the inci- 
dents follow each other with a naturalness which makes the book unusually 
real, while it is full of an interest which never flags. Sophie Mav has won a 
success in this new field of fiction no less marked than she had already 
secured in juvenile literature.” — Philadelphia Press. 

In Old Qiiinnebasset. By Sophie May. Price $1.50. 

Sophie May here gives us the story of Quinnebasset as it was a century 
ago. There are those among our girls who would sell their birthright of operas 
and five-o’clock teas to have stood in those high-heeled satin slippers of dainty 
Bess, as she danced o’er the floors of old Boston so gayly, till the acme of 
happiness was reached when she bent the proud little powdered head low over 
the polished shoe-buckles of the great General Washington. 

Janet: A Poor Heiress. By Sophie May. Price $1.50. 

” Miss Clarke’s pictures of village life are bright and entertaining. Miss 
O’Neil, who figured in ‘ The Doctor’s Daughter,’ is made a prominent char- 
acter; and no less droll is Ozen Page, who ‘was a kindly soul, and usually 
expressed his sympathy in vegetables.’ The story tells how a proud-spirited 
girl, finding herself, as she supposed, in a false position of dependency, 
secretly leaves her adopted father’s house, and tries to earn her own living. 
There is a pretty thread of love running through it.” — Philadelphia Press. 

The Doctor’s Daiig'liter, By Sophie May. Price $1.50. 

“The Doctor’s Daughter ” is a country story, bright as a sunbeam, natural 
as life itself, unpretending as real goodness, and sanitary as the personal eflTect 
of pure spring water. Marian is a lovable heroine, and her girlhood story 
abounds in incidents full of fun, in more serious scenes, and without a word of 
preaching. Her emotional nature and poetic temperament lead her into all 
kinds of troubles and trials; but a beautiful home lends its sacred influence to 
her girlhood, the death of a beloved mother sobers her into womanhood, and 
the ennobling influence of a pmre love crowns her youth, until we close the 
book on her marriage morning. 

Our Helen. By Sophie May. Price $1.50. 

This is a fresh, rare work, and well repays perusal. The characters are very 
striking, and form a circle so pleasant that the reader is loath to part with 
them by closing the volume. ” Oair Helen,” the heroine, is not made so 
remarkably perfect that the example of her noble record is lost. 

Quinnebasset Girls. By Sophie May. Price $1.50. 

By the simplicity and perfect “ life-likeness ” of her books, Sophie May has 
endeared herself to many thousands of girls all over our country. Every 
parent whose girls have ever been introduced to this author knows how 
eagerly they seek every opportunity of a renewal of the acquaintance, and how 
they read these simple stoines over and over again. Quinnebasset Girls ” is 
one of the best of all this popular author’s works. 

Asbury Twins. By Sophie May. Price $1.50. 

The construction of the story is two-sided, — first one of the twins having a 
chapter, then the other. They are beautiful girls both, and we confess to hav- 
ing fallen in love with them ; and there is likely to be a latent Mormon desire 
in the mind of a young man reader to marry both, one is so pleasant a comple- 
ment to the other. Perhaps there might be some construction of the law 
so as not to make it illegal to marry twins. At all events, one would make a 
lovely wife and the other a lovely sister-in-law. 


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MARY A. DENISON’S BOOKS 

That Husband of Mine. By Mary A. Denison. Price, 
cloth, $i.oo; paper, 50 cents. 

“ It is as bright and cheery as a sunbeam ; full of good humor and a great 
deal of patience. It teaches how to get a husband, how to manage one, and 
how an engagement can be broken. After reading the first page, you will feel 
like joining in the pursuit of ‘ That Husband of Mine.’ ” — Boston Journal. 

That Wife of Mine. By Mary A. Denison. Price, cloth, 
$1.00; paper, 50 cents. 

“ There is now and then a touch of genuine pathos. Its incidents, its char- 
acters, its language, are of the every-day sort; but its very simplicity and 
naturalness give it a charm to the ordinary reader; and it is undeniably pure 
and healthful in tone. We must pronounce ‘That Wife of Mine’ an excel- 
lent book of its kind.” — Boston Journal. 

Mr. Peter Crewit. By Mary A. Denison. Price, cloth, 
$1.00; paper, 50 cents. 

The character of the hero is'a delightful creation, one of the most original 
and fascinating in Mrs. Denison’s books. The hero has been likened to 
Dickens’ people, but there is no imitation, for his odd traits were freshly 
studied from nature. The Advertiser of Elmira, N.Y., says, ‘‘There are pas- 
sages of pathos, of moralizing, of pointed ridicule and satire that would do 
credit to the ablest novelist.” 

Tell your Wife. By Mary A. Denison. Price, cloth, $1.00; 
paper, 50 cents. 

“ This, though not a sensational story, is brig^ht enough and timely enough 
to create a sensation. The story is very entertainingly told, and leaves a good 
impression.” — Winona Republican. 

If she Will, she Will. By Mary A. Denison. Price, cloth, 
$1.00 ; paper, 50 cents. 

The pages hold a well-woven romance, worthy the attention of every lover of 
fiction of a pure and ennobling type. In construction and development, the 
plot is ingenious, and the action spirited. Altogether, the book will prove a 
welcome addition to the literature of the summer. 

His Triumph. By Mary A. Denison. Price, cloth, $1.00; 
paper, 50 cents. 

“A sprightly story is ‘ His Triumph,’ in spite of the fact that it opens with 
a wedding, and ends with a renunciation. We read of two runaways, of lovers’ 
letters, of a haunted house, a debutante, and all of the romance and reality that 
pertain to a well-conceived and well-told story. Mrs. Denison is a skilful 
story-teller, and ‘ His Triumph ’ is also her triumph.” — Philadelphia Keystone. 

Like a Gentleman. By Mary A. Denison. Price, cloth, 
$1.00; paper, 50 cents. 

“ The story of one who drank ‘ like a gentleman ’ is one of Mrs. Denison’s 
best stories. The lovers of romance will pronounce it charming, and will be 
all the more pleased with it because some of the characters are purer, sweeter, 
and nobler than are often found in real life. The plot is interesting, the 
incidents are thrilling, and the story is well-told.” — Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

Rothmell. By Mary A. Denison. Price, cloth, $1.00; paper, 

50 cents. 

“ The style is clear and bright, abounding in little novel pictures and delicate 
touches. Rothmell is a brilliant surgeon with a magnetic eye, but with a 
penchant in earlier life for marrying rich women, which, indulged in, gives 
him considerable after trouble.”— Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

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JUDGE D. P. THOMPSON’S BOOKS 

The Green Mountain Boys. By Judge D. P. Thompson. 
Price, cloth, $i.oo ; paper 50 cents. 

An historical story of the early settlement of Vermont, illustrating a portion 
of the romantic incidents in the early settlement of the State, with enough of 
fiction and' daring adventure to make a connected narrative of the heroes and 
exploits of revolutionary days. It is a healthy story, blending fact and fiction, 
and showing the noble qualities of the early settlers of our country. 

The Rang'ers; or, The Tory’s Daughter. By Judge D. P. 
Thompson. Price, cloth $1.00 ; paper 50 cents. 

An intensely attractive and interesting tale, illustrative of the early history 
of the State of Vermont, and of the northern campaign of the Continental 
Army in 1777. The truth and earnestness of the recital of the heroic prosecu- 
tion of the war on the part of the Green Mountain Boys ; the daring deeds of 
Ethan Allen, John Stark, and others; the hunting down of Tory sympathizers, 
and the vivid picture of the trials and sufferings of the brave men and women 
of that day, all awaken the intensest interest of the reader, — especially when 
he contemplates that the truth of the history he is reading has the flavor of 
romance and almost impossible fiction. 

May Martin, and Other Tales of the Green Mountains. 
By Judge D. P. Thompson. Price, cloth $1.00 ; paper 50 cents. 

This story has gained wide popularity on account of the adventurous spirit 
evinced by a band, known as “ The Money Diggers,” who made many searches 
for hidden treasures in Vermont, by exploring famous mountain peaks and 
sequestered valleys, owned by the granddaughter of a wealthy landholder, and 
from whom the volume received its name. 

Locke Amsden ; or, The Schoolmaster. By Judge D. P* 
Thompson. Price, cloth $i.oo ; paper 50 cents. 

This volume will please all who enjoy reading a captivating narrative, full 
of historical and romantic incident. From the time when we are first intro- 
duced to Locke Amsden, the bright and industrious boy on the hillside farm, 
till the closing line, the story keeps the riveted attention of the reader. The 
Schoolmaster wrought great changes in the people of Cartersville, and the 
nonsense in the way of managing and teaching school is exploded in a way to 
amuse and to instruct at the same time. 


JANE G. AUSTIN’S NOVELS 

Dora Darling, the Daughter of the Regiment. By Mrs. 

Jane G. Austin. Price, cloth, $i.oo; paper, 50 cents. 

Probably no more thrilling story of the Rebellion has been written than this. 
It represents things on the Dixie side; and the portrayal of camp and battle 
scenes, while lacking in the which actual experience can alone 

give, are still drawn with a fire and truth which evidences careful work in 
preparation. The negro character sketches are the best in the book; and, as a 
whole, it is one of the best told stories of the war times. 

Outpost. By Mrs. Jane G. Austin. Cloth. $1.00. 

This is a sequel to ” Dora Darling,” which tells the story of little ” Sun- 
shine,” a young child stolen from her parents, brought up as a dancer by an 
Italian hand-organ player, and afterward rescued from a railway accident to 
remain in a distant State for some time, undiscovered by her patents. In spite 
of a little exaggeration, the character of the child and the nature of the situa- 
tions continually play upon the feelings, and move them to tender sympathy 
It is well-constructed, has well-drawn people, and is lively and engrossing. 

LEE AND SHEPARD, BOSTON, SEND THEIR COMPLETE CATALOGUE FREE. 




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